Ten Steps
by Digitallace
Summary: Harry seeks the unlikely help of Draco Malfoy to give a boost to his love life, but as usual, things aren’t always what they seem. Explicit content.
1. Sound Advice

Author's Note: Thanks to Shannon and TutelaTwin for their beta work on this chapter. This story is panning out to be about 21 chapters long, though that might fluctuate slightly as I go. It's DH compliant minus the epilogue and set 12 years from the war.

Chapter 1 Sound Advice

While letting the tea cool in his favorite mug – the one with the flying Snitch buzzing around on it – Harry turned to his favorite section of _The Quibbler_. He'd given up reading the _Prophet_ years ago since it had gotten no more reliable after the war than it was during. He knew Ron would give him such a rash of shite if he knew that Harry read the advice column first every week, or that part of him even _looked forward to it_, but he couldn't bring himself to care as he scanned over the printed page to find the article in question. This was the only indulgence he allowed himself; he didn't drink excessively, he didn't smoke, he didn't gamble, he should be allowed this one small vice.

_Dear Professor Amore, _

_I've been dating my boyfriend for about three months and things are great when we're alone, but my family doesn't trust or accept him. He's a pureblood and I'm Muggle-born and my parents just can't accept his family's beliefs. I care about him and I'm certain he cares about me, but how can a relationship work when I can't even bring him to Christmas dinner with me?_

_Confunded in Cambridge_

_Dear Confunded,_

_That kind of relationship is destined to fail if you don't stand up to your family. _

It sounds to me like you might share some of your family's worries or else you wouldn't be letting them dictate your love life. If you love him, you need to demand that your family respect him as they do you, and if you don't love him, you should let him go so he can find a woman who will treat him the way he deserves. Love conquers all, so even if your family is wary at first, if you want to stay together and get married, you'll have to find a way to make them see how happy he makes you.

_Professor Amore_

Harry sighed and shook his head lightly. He remembered when Ginny started dating her husband Clive, who was a Slytherin, and the Weasleys had a minor epileptic fit. He thought the Professor's logic was dead on as usual and he envied her. She probably had a long, healthy marriage and great children and everything else Harry wanted for himself. Outsiders seemed jealous of Harry's wealth and fame and assumed it would be easy as Cauldron Cakes for him to find a partner, but Harry wasn't nearly as lucky in love as one might expect of the Hero of the Wizarding World, much to the contrary in fact. As he did every Friday when he read Professor Amore's column, Harry thought of sending in his own lovelorn letter to see what advice she might have for his love life - or lack thereof - but he never knew exactly what he would say on the matter.

Harry was a successful Auror and very close to the promotion of Department Head he'd been coveting for the last year or so. He had spectacular friends and a warm adoptive family in the Weasleys and wouldn't trade any of them for the world. The media still lurked around at every corner, but Harry found himself growing more accustomed to their bulb flashes and seeing his picture on the front page of newspapers accompanying some mundane story about what soap he preferred to buy. In spite of this seemingly wonderful life, something was always missing because he had no one to come home to and share it with.

His love life over the past decade had been a train wreck, not that he had done so well in Hogwarts either, but after the war it seemed people only wanted two things from him; money or fame. Although to be fair, some people he dated after the war wanted both. Discovering he was gay made things that much more difficult, but he was persistent. He even tried dating within his close circle of friends from school, people he knew and trusted, but that had been…awkward at best.

When he heard the fireplace in his kitchen flame to life he quickly stuffed the magazine away and stood to greet his new visitor. "Harry?" called a dreamy voice from the kitchen as he rounded the corner.

"Luna! What brings you here?" Harry asked, hugging his friend with the enthusiasm he often felt in her presence. Luna was such a caring woman, and his respect for her only grew when she married Ron and had five children, all while juggling her position as editor for the magazine he'd just been reading. Her dreamy qualities had taken a different tone when her first child was born and she seemed to live more in the here-and-now, though Harry always smiled at her occasional mentions of Wrackspurts or other ridiculous things.

Luna was dressed in violet robes with a very loud silk blouse peaking out from underneath. Her blonde hair was pulled up in a neat twist that exposed her trademark radish earrings – some things never changed. Harry thought after all these years it was a wonder she hadn't lost them, but sometimes he suspected she had more than one pair. An image of Luna's jewelry box stuffed to bursting with tiny beaded vegetables came unbidden to his mind and his grin only grew wider.

As she easily spelled a dribble of tea from his otherwise crisp white jumper, she returned his smile sweetly before looking rather taxed for a brief moment. "I'm afraid I need a favor," she admitted with a slight grimace.

"Anything, Luna," Harry replied without hesitation. His cluster of friends had grown smaller, but tighter over the past several years and Harry was very close with Luna, more so than he might have suspected he'd be when he first met the eccentric girl back at Hogwarts.

"Well, Ron's sick with the flu and can't manage Philius, Quinn and Prewett on his own - you know how they are," she added with wince. The three boys were the youngest of five, with the twin girls Frieda and Georgina already at Hogwarts. Ron had his hands full with the rambunctious boys when he was at the top of his health, so Harry could only imagine the havoc the boys would cause without proper _conscious_ supervision. "It would only be for a few hours and normally I'd stay myself but I can't miss another meeting with the magazine's new sponsor. He's a bit gruff."

"Consider it done," Harry replied before she could speak another word. "I'll just finish my tea and be right over."

"Oh, Harry, you're a lifesaver, really. If there is anything I can do for you, just say the word and it's yours!" she exclaimed before kissing Harry on the cheek and flittering over to the fireplace.

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Watching the three Weasley boys while simultaneously taking care of a sickly Ron was like tying a dragon to a rocket and letting it loose in the house. He probably cast _Reparo_ more times in three hours than he had his entire life. It was exhausting. When Luna got home and relieved him of duty, Harry gratefully went back to his own flat and went comatose in front of his Muggle telly. He had no idea what possessed Ron and Luna to have five children. Harry wanted kids of course, but he wanted to keep the number more confined to one or two. He would have to adopt, for obvious reasons, and the adoption process in wizarding society was even more rigorous than it was in the Muggle world. Harry sometimes even wondered if they would allow him to adopt since he was in the public eye so much.

Thoughts of children and adoption just brought him around to sulking that he didn't have a partner to raise the children with in the first place and Ron's house today was proof that two parents were far more effective than one, though in all fairness, there were three boys, and they were Weasley boys at that. Prewett and Quinn in particular made Fred and George look like tamed unicorns by comparison.

Tired of sulking, Harry grabbed his broom from the cupboard and went for a nice long flight. The wind in his hair was liberating as always, and it cleared way for his mind to focus on what was important to him. This feeling of weightlessness always invigorated him and he came up with some of his best ideas while on his broom, swooping above the streets of London.

Finally the culmination of his day –the _Quibbler _article, the unexpected visit from Luna, spending the day with his nephews - seemed to give way to the perfect answer. The solution to his problem was only an anonymous letter away. He could write to Professor Amore and ask her advice on how someone like him could find his true love. If anyone could help him with his love life it was the woman who made so many lives better.

The thought thrilled him and he found himself making his way home, where he planted himself at his desk with a spare bit of parchment and ink. After staring at a blank scroll for what felt like hours, he finally wrote a short letter to Professor Amore. He hoped desperately that the woman wouldn't laugh at his ineptitude in the dating world, or at least if she did, she would keep it to herself.

_Dear Professor Amore,_

_What would you suggest for a person who wants nothing more than to have a relationship and settle down, but can't seem to find Mr. Right? My life is a tad unconventional and I've struggled with finding someone who can both tolerate living in the public eye and also not feel the need to exploit it for their own benefit. It's so hard to find a date when everyone seems to want something from you._

_Sincerely,_

_Lonely Lion_

Without giving it a second thought, because he knew if he did he'd probably incinerate the parchment rather than send it in, Harry rolled it up, stamped it with a heavy wax seal and sent it along to the address listed in the _Quibbler_. His masked owl, Delano, seemed quite pleased to be let out of his cage for the journey and he watched as the bird flew out over the horizon, feeling relief that he was taking back some of the control in his love life.

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The end of the week couldn't come soon enough for Harry, and as he flicked through the pages of the Quibbler looking for his favorite section, he wasn't disappointed. There in bold black type was his own letter and the response from Professor Amore herself.

_Dear Lonely Lion,_

_As a public figure myself, I can understand the trappings that come along with celebrity in whatever form it takes. That being said, you can't simply assume the worst of people because there is certainly someone out there for you and if you give up looking, you'll never find him. My advice would be to go to your friends and family, people you trust, and seek their assistance. Ask them to set you up with someone they respect who they think might be a good fit for you. Who knows, the man of your dreams might be a few cubicles away from your best friend's office and you would have never known without asking._

_Professor Amore_

Harry blinked as he processed the advice and realized how brilliant it really was. His friends were a close-knit group, but he trusted them all not to pair him up with some lunatic and at least one of them was bound to know someone that Harry didn't already know. Harry almost wished he could kiss the professor for her expert advice. He really didn't want to be the ponce asking his friends for blind dates, but he couldn't fault the logic one bit. It was perfect timing too, since everyone was getting together at Ginny's that evening for their weekly soiree.

Every Friday night Harry and his friends would all meet at one of their homes and drink wine and chat about whatever struck their fancy. With everyone's lives so full and hectic, it was important that they set aside a little bit of time to just be with people who made them comfortable and who accepted everything about them – or at least that was how Harry felt about it. Some of them might just use it as a temporary escape from work or children, but Harry looked forward to every Friday night when he was assured time with Hermione, Ron, Ginny and Luna and whoever else showed up.

It would be the perfect opportunity to do as the brilliant professor had instructed.

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The advice of Professor Amore still lingering on the outskirts of his conscious thought, Harry felt ill at ease as he milled about Ginny's manor looking for someplace to set his drink down. Expensive pottery or vases overflowing with fresh flowers occupied all the little accent tables in the garden room, leaving him to hold his glass of crisp white wine. There were two large seating areas and his friends were all chatting amicably about what they had been up to since the last party. Harry wanted to get his mission over with, but he was afraid of how he would be received, begging for a date from his friends.

Hermione and Neville occupied a small window seat in front of a large bay window that overlooked a pristine garden. To the untrained eye, the couple might look like casual friends, but Harry knew better. Hermione only curled her hair around her finger when she was so close to the man at her side, and she was the only one who giggled lightly at his jokes about Herbology. Neville was a bit more overt with his affection, his hand casually placed at the small of Hermione's back and he would always brush the lock of hair Hermione played with back behind her ear when she let it fall. They had been married for nearly eight years come this fall, and it seemed their love had never dwindled in spite of working in such close proximity with one another at Hogwarts.

"Any new Transfiguration lessons being included in this year's curriculum, Mi?" Ron asked. "I taught Gina everything I could remember from First year, but I'm afraid it might not be enough."

"Well, if you could recall any of the lessons from our first year I'd be impressed, Ronald. Especially since you rarely paid attention in that class," she teased. "Gina should do just fine though, she's a bright witch and so is her sister. They must take after their mother," she mused with a playful smile.

"Oi!" Ron balked and puffed his chest out indignantly. "You don't need high Transfigurations marks to be a professional Quidditch player, and I scored brilliantly on my Auror's exam. If playing Keeper for the Cannons didn't pay so much better than working for the Ministry, I would be going into an office like Harry every day."

"Don't you act for a minute like you don't adore it," Harry butted in with a laugh. "Quidditch allots you all the time you want with the kids and I've seen you with those boys. You're just as enthralled in their games as they are." Ron had floundered with a few things before settling into his career as Keeper for his favorite team. With Ron's help, the Cannons had actually made it to last year's World Cup.

"They are fun!" Ron admitted excitedly. "We never had Slap Stones when I was a kid, and they can already fly pretty well. I bet they'll both make it on the Gryffindor Quidditch team and then maybe they'll follow after their father's footsteps and fly for the Cannons."

"If they actually make it into Gryffindor, you mean?" asked a smooth voice from the doorway. "Frieda got placed in Ravenclaw and Ginevra and Clive's brood are bound to end up in Slytherin."

"There is no reason to tease him, Draco dear," Ginny cooed as she greeted her newest guest with a cool embrace before turning her attention to her husband, who had walked in with Draco

Harry backed up a step at the blond's entrance. He'd only seen the man occasionally over the last few years, despite their mutual friends, and Harry was forced to note that time had been kind to Draco Malfoy. Instead of growing his hair out long like most wizards did, Draco had kept his cropped close to his face so that it fell in elegant tendrils along his cheekbone and around his ears. It looked like he'd flown here because his cheeks were tinged a pale pink and it was obvious by the lithe body under his perfectly tailored robes that the man still played the occasional game of Quidditch.

Draco's metallic gaze met his and caught him staring so Harry immediately dropped his eyes to the floor and cleared his throat. "Would anyone care for some more wine?" he asked abruptly, "I think I'm going down to the cellar to grab another bottle, okay Gin?"

Ginny smirked at him, an expression Harry was sure she'd picked up from her Slytherin husband, Clive. She certainly never smirked like that when _they_ dated over a decade ago now. Harry liked Clive though, and tried not to hold it against the man that he smirked like Draco Malfoy was doing in his direction right that very moment. "Of course, Harry," she replied and pointed in the direction of the cellar even though Harry had been there a dozen times or more.

He was eager to make his escape of the claustrophobic room, made more so by the newest arrival. Draco Malfoy was undeniably attractive, but that was where his positive aspects ended. He was cold, aloof and probably had more trouble with romances because of it than even Harry did. Over the years Harry had seen the man from a distance at Ministry functions, and of course he heard about him a great deal because of their shared set of friends. Hermione worked with him occasionally when he gave his special education lessons to the more advanced Potions students at Hogwarts, and Ginny of course was friends with him through her husband, who graduated a year after Draco from Slytherin house. Those snakes always seemed to stick together.

Harry roamed the corridor until he found the aged barrel door that would lead down to the wine cellar. He left it open behind him so he could see the path ahead of him down the staircase but a shadow blocked his light and he nearly stumbled halfway down. Turning toward his assailant, Harry noticed the shock of white-blond hair first. "Malfoy," he addressed in clipped tones. "You're blocking my light."

Draco merely chuckled and gave his wand a flick, lighting the whole room with ease. "Do you forget that you're a wizard, Potter?" he asked with a teasing laugh.

"Sometimes," Harry muttered honestly. "What are you doing down here, Malfoy?"

"I thought you might like company," he mused and met Harry at the bottom landing where they turned to face the rows upon rows of dusty wine bottles.

"I'm fine, Malfoy, you can head back up with your friends if you'd like," Harry suggested. He held his old animosity toward the man wrapped around him like a warm blanket. Remembering that he once poisoned Ron and cursed Katie Bell made it easier not to think about the fact that he somehow smelled like fresh baked brownies.

"You injure me, Potter," he replied with mock offense. "Are we not friends?"

"Are we?" Harry asked, not bothering to keep his face schooled into a careful mask as Malfoy always did. Instead he let the outrageousness of that comment show fully on his features.

"No, I suppose not," he admitted at last, "but we _could _be."

"Malfoy," Harry began but the blond cut him off.

"Draco," he corrected but Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Malfoy," he began again, noting the exasperated chuckle that escaped the blond's lips at Harry's refusal to use his given name, "I'm happy that you and my other friends get along after all these years, but really, don't you think that you and I are too dissimilar to be friends?"

"No," he replied plainly.

Harry sighed tiredly and pointed to a bottle with a shiny gold label. "How about that one?" he asked, determined to change topic and get out from under the man's hovering gaze.

"Too dry," Draco complained and began scanning the contents of the cellar himself. "This one," he said at last and pulled down a dusty bottle of Shiraz.

He aimed his wand at the bottle and gave it a little flick. The cork shot out of the glass like a bullet and hovered in the air until Draco plucked it up and studied it. After a moment, he transfigured it into a goblet and poured an inch of the deep burgundy liquid inside before handing it to Harry.

After swirling and sniffing it, as he knew an aristocratic prat like Malfoy would expect of him, Harry took a sip and swallowed the fruity mixture down. "Quite good," he begrudgingly admitted. "I taste black cherries and smoked wood."

Draco smiled appreciatively before leaning in and capturing Harry's mouth. The brunet froze, his eyes flinging wide as he wondered what the hell the former Slytherin was playing at. Draco's tongue did a quick, yet thorough sweep of Harry's mouth and then pulled away so casually that Harry began to wonder if it had happened at all.

"Yes, I do have good taste," Draco mused when he broke the kiss. Harry just stood there staring awkwardly as the blond winked and turned away, carrying the bottle back upstairs with him.

"What the hell just happened?" Harry asked himself as he followed a few moments later. His mind was screaming that he'd just kissed Draco Malfoy of all people, but he quickly squashed that notion. If there was any kissing going on, it was Draco doing it, not him. He was in no way attracted to the sneaky git.

He carefully avoided the blond for the remainder of the evening and had nearly convinced himself that the incident had never even happened. It was easy enough when he would look up and see the man deep in conversation with Clive and Hermione and not paying even a lick of attention to him.

"So, how was your date with George?" Ron asked, pulling Harry out of his Malfoy haze.

"Hm? Oh, it was fun," he replied at last.

"To hear George talk about it you two hit it off," Ron offered hopefully.

Harry winced, remembering the night with some regret. "George is great," Harry began.

"But not the one?" Ron finished for him knowingly and Harry nodded.

"I hope I didn't ruin our friendship by asking him out," Harry sighed.

Ron simply shrugged and smiled. "I think he'll take the rejection well enough. I hear he's out with Angelina tonight."

"Good," Harry replied with a sigh of relief. "I've been meaning to ask, actually, do you think you have any single guy friends on your team?"

"Er, no one who isn't already seeing someone pretty serious," Ron mused. "Wait, I might know of someone, not from the Cannons, but I saw him at practice recently and I think he mentioned he was unattached. Want me to set it up?"

"I hate to ask," Harry began, but Ron cut him off with a laugh.

"Think nothing of it," he replied, clapping his friend on the back. "I'll see if he's busy next Friday. Maybe I can just invite him over to our place and you can see if you two hit it off. It'll be less pressure that way," Ron reasoned.

"Sometimes you surprise me, Ron," Hermione mused from the corner where she'd apparently been listening into their conversation. "That was so thoughtful."

"It's been known to happen occasionally," Ron muttered.

The rest of the party went smoothly. Harry kept a safe distance from Malfoy, completed his mission and perhaps even managed success out of it. He felt accomplished as he went home to sit in his favorite armchair with a glass of firewhiskey. Unfortunately, even though he felt his evening was a surprising victory, he couldn't get the taste of wine and Malfoy out of his mouth no matter how hard he tried.

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Author's Note: Things are already heating up at a confusing pace for Draco and Harry, but who will this mysterious date be that Ron's setting up? Will anything come of it?


	2. Shopping for Sausages

Author's Note: Okay, so there has been some speculation to the identity of Harry's date, and this chapter shall reveal all. Thanks again to Kasey, Shannon and TutelaTwin for being my beta's. This chapter tickled my funny bone. I'm determined to make a likable Ginny in this one!! Watch out everyone!!!

Chapter 2 Shopping for Sausages

Harry woke up to a tapping on his window. It was Sunday and he'd planned on sleeping in, but apparently the owl post had different ideas for his morning. Reluctantly, he pried himself from the warm comfort of bed and wobbled over to the window. A graceful tawny owl flew in the moment he unlatched it and settled on the edge of the chair in the corner of his room.

Carefully, Harry reached out and scratched the bird behind the neck – one could never be too careful with the public birds, they were often far meaner than privately owned owls - earning him a warm coo before the bird thrust out his leg for Harry to accept the rolled parchment weighing him down. As soon as the final bind left its leg, the bird flew away through the window whence it came.

With longing eyes, Harry stared at his rumpled bed, but reluctantly shook off the idea of crawling back under the covers and drifting off to sleep again. It was already seven and if he dozed off now he'd probably sleep until noon, and that was far later than he'd like. Not to mention the fact that he was awake enough now that he'd merely toss and turn for a while and probably wouldn't even be able to fall asleep again. He took his new mail and trudged downstairs to set his teakettle brewing. The shrill whistle was music to his ears and after a few minutes, Harry was sitting at the breakfast table sipping hot tea and unrolling the parchment he'd brought downstairs with him.

His mail consisted of an advertisement for the new broom coming out next month, the Graphite 2.0, which was supposedly the lightest and fastest model to date, and informed him that he could pre-order it from Quality Quidditch today. He also had a letter from Ron, which told him that he had successfully spoken to his friend who had agreed to attend Friday's get together, which would be held at Ron's house this week, and last but not least, an issue of Witch Weekly.

He didn't subscribe to the magazine, so Harry wasn't sure why he was getting it at all until he saw the note scribbled on the front in bubbly cursive writing. It simply said 'Page Thirteen'.Harry frowned as he turned to a large photo and article about Draco Malfoy. The title of the piece was 'Philanthropic Heartthrob' and featured a list of Malfoy's current projects, most of which were restoring historical magical buildings destroyed in the war. He'd started with Hogwarts and had apparently sunk a fair bit of time and money into making sure the castle was as it was before Voldemort attacked. Harry had donated a good deal of his own time and money into the project, but he'd stopped after the school was complete, where it seemed Malfoy had been inspired to continue his work elsewhere.

Another note graced the bottom right hand corner of the photo that accompanied the article – a picture that featured a smiling Malfoy as he surveyed the new plans for the rebuild of St. Madeline's Orphanage. Harry rolled his eyes when he read it, Ginny's handwriting quite evident now.

_Harry,_

_I caught you staring at him several times at the party Friday. I thought perhaps you'd like to hang this in your office._

_Love, _

_Ginny _

"Terribly funny, Gin," Harry muttered to himself as he rolled the magazine up and threw it in the rubbish bin. He wondered if Malfoy told her and Clive about their awkward kiss down in the cellar. He must have, otherwise Ginny wouldn't have sent the magazine to rub it in Harry's face.

"It wasn't even a kiss. It was just Malfoy being a slimy git at usual," Harry grumbled before deciding he wasn't going to talk to himself anymore.

When the Floo sounded from the kitchen, Harry got up to greet his visitor. It was Luna again, and she wore an odd mixture of amusement and confusion on her normally dreamy features.

"Is Ron ill again?" he asked at once. "I just got a note from him this morning saying that everything was a go for Friday."

"Did he tell you who the bloke is?" Luna asked, her lips curling up in a smile.

"No," Harry replied with a frown. "Should I know? Is it bad?"

"Not bad, no," she replied and settled onto a small wooden stool by the fireplace. "Ron's fine," she added as an afterthought. "This visit is actually work related."

"Oh?" Harry asked warily. He couldn't understand why she would need him for anything work related. He'd given her a couple exclusive interviews with him over the years because she was his friend, but nothing important had happened recently that would need to be reported on.

"Did you write a letter to Professor Amore?" she asked casually.

Harry flushed a deep crimson before nodding. "Yes. She's the one who suggested I ask my friends to set me up on a date."

"Why didn't you ask me? I could have arranged a lunch or something," she replied, as if chastising her son. "The professor's asked me to track down the person who wrote the letter."

"Why?" Harry asked, more confused than ever. "It's already been posted in the paper along with her answer."

"Because the professor is preparing a set of case studies and was interested in what you wrote, apparently because you mentioned being in the public eye," she noted.

"I think I'd rather not," Harry replied with mild distaste. "I don't want to be some laughing stock."

"It's a huge honor, Harry," Luna corrected abruptly, clearly in Professor Amore's corner. "You've been selected by the professor personally to take the Ten Step lessons." She acted as if Harry was being bestowed with the Order of Merlin, but he'd already gotten one of those just after the war and it was locked up in his cupboard. He didn't much care for being singled out, especially when he didn't even understand what he was being singled out _for_.

"What's that?"

"It's a series of private sessions where Professor Amore bestows upon you the ten guaranteed steps to having a long healthy relationship. The professor normally charges a large fee for the service but is offering it to you for free because of who you are," Luna explained, her gaze far away as if she was thinking about something else altogether.

"She knows who I am?" Harry balked. He hadn't wanted that at all, in fact, that was part of the reason he'd gone the _anonymous_ route in the first place. The last thing he needed was for all the media to be reporting on poor dateless Harry Potter.

"No, but when the professor asked about you, I informed them that you're a prominent figure, like you said in your letter," she replied, looking a bit embarrassed but not remorseful.

"I didn't tell her that. I just said that it was hard finding someone who can live in the limelight without exploiting me," he rebuked.

"Whatever you said, you got the professor's attention," she replied. "It's a good thing."

"So what, you think I should do this? I'm not even dating anyone," Harry replied. He couldn't fathom going to this woman for dating advice directly, writing that letter had been taxing enough, but maybe that was just what he needed. He trusted Luna's opinion after all.

"I wasn't dating Ron when Professor Amore helped us. We were both in the professor's program," she told Harry with a soft smile.

"Ron went to a dating class?" Harry asked incredulously. He simply couldn't picture it.

"We'd both gone to the professor separately and after a few lessons he matched us together. We've been inseparable since, and the professor's ten step program made sure we lasted." Her face was alight with joy as she recalled that time in her life. She and Ron were one of the happiest couples Harry knew. Perhaps there was someone else taking Professor Amore's classes that she could see him matched with.

"I'll do it," Harry replied at last, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

"Brilliant. I'll set it up for next Saturday," she replied. "You should meet your date on Friday first, after all, it was the professor who suggested it," she quipped before erupting into a fit of giggles. Harry had no idea why any of this was so funny, but Luna eventually gathered her calm and left, which was fine since he really needed to start his day. He had a million errands to run, including going to the market, which always took him forever since he never managed to stick to his list.

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Harry couldn't decide whether he wanted a cantaloupe or honeydew for his breakfast the next morning and held one of each in his hands as he weighed the possibility. "Nice melons, Potter," commented an all too familiar voice from behind him.

Harry rolled his eyes and held them up suggestively, trying to best the Slytherin at his own game. "Do you like them really, Malfoy?" he asked, batting his eyelashes demurely. "I think they might be a tad large for my frame."

"Well, it is size that matters after all," Malfoy quipped, "but I'm not a big fan of melons. I prefer a nice, thick, juicy sausage for breakfast."

Harry flushed and turned back to the fruit stand to replace both melons to their respective piles. Once composed, Harry turned back to his unwelcome guest and smiled. "I had guessed that about you, actually," he replied at last. "I'm sure the thin, limp frankfurter always covets the bratwurst."

Draco chuckled darkly and shook his head. "Who knew the Gryffindor Golden Boy would have such a keen sense of humor?"

"Who said I was joking?" Harry replied with his eyebrow arched in challenge.

"Touché," Draco replied but sidled in closer to Harry's personal space. "However, I assure you that there is nothing thin or limp attached to this body," he added, gesturing to the magnificence that was Draco Malfoy. Had the man not been watching him carefully, Harry might have allowed his gaze to linger on the fit blond, but as it stood he refused to give in.

"Two encounters in one week, one might think you're stalking me, Malfoy," Harry pointed out.

"You could just as easily be following me, Potter," Malfoy noted.

"Except I always shop at this market on Sunday afternoon," he explained, as if that was somehow definitive proof that he couldn't possibly be stalking Malfoy anywhere.

"Noted," the blond replied with a wink and moved along through the produce area, leaving Harry staring after him again. Just once Harry wanted to have the last word when they parted ways. Just once.

He surreptitiously watched Draco toss a pomegranate, a tomato, and a golden yellow squash into his basket. Harry thought about pointing out that he was only selecting Gryffindor colors, but that would only lead to talking to the man again and he really didn't want to do that. No doubt it would only lead to more blushing on his part while Malfoy stared on with a smug grin. The git.

Harry finished his shopping quicker than usual as he tried to avoid any more run-ins with the blond. Draco got into line right after him as everything was being rung up but thankfully the Slytherin remained silent, occasionally smirking in Harry's direction. When Harry got home, he levitated his bags into the kitchen and began to put his things in the cupboards. It wasn't until he got to the third bag that he noticed something was off.

There, in plastic wrapped glory was a massive beef sausage that Harry hadn't purchased. He scowled down at the joke – the sausage was truly comical, nearly as long as his forearm and twice as thick - that must have been slipped in with his things while he wasn't looking. Malfoy must think a great deal of himself, but despite his disdain for the blond, Harry caught himself laughing aloud over the incident several times that day.

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During the week, Harry was both worried and excited for Friday to come. It was a slow week for the Ministry, which gave him plenty of time to dwell on who he'd be meeting as well as whether or not there would be chemistry. He trusted Ron and Luna, and since they both seemed confident that Harry would like his date, he tried to calm his mind and keep that fact forefront in his thoughts.

"It's not as though they thought to set me up with Malfoy," Harry found himself muttering quite often whenever he allowed himself to think about it.

When Friday finally arrived, Harry debated for nearly an hour on what to wear. He eventually settled for dark robes that fit him nicely, simple well-tailored trousers and a dark purple shirt. Once he was sure his hair wouldn't get any better, he set out for Ron and Luna's.

His heart was thudding in his chest as he approached the front door. He knocked sharply and waited, his breath leaving him the moment the door was opened and he found Malfoy standing on the other side of the threshold.

"Potter, how good to see you," he greeted, although Harry could tell he was being sarcastic.

He was seconds away from a retort when it hit him; Ron and Luna were setting him up with Malfoy after all. He mentally crossed them both off his Christmas list as he stood in the doorway and tried to decide how to proceed. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

"I was invited," Malfoy replied. "Same as you I'd imagine."

Harry wanted to drive a sharp object into his forehead as his reality spun out of control. How could his friends do this to him? "So, they've recruited you to be my date?" Harry groaned, rubbing at his temples as he felt a headache coming on.

"Merlin no," Draco laughed. "Your date's inside. Though I think when you see him you will have preferred it was me," the blond added with a wink and opened the door to let the mortified Harry inside.

He quickly shuffled away from the smirking Slytherin and made his way over to Ron, who was speaking to a familiar man. Harry hadn't seen him in years but he would recognize that fiery passion in those bright blue eyes any day.

"Oliver!" Harry called out, extending his hand out for the man to shake. He'd seen a few of the man's Puddlemere games, but hadn't really seen Wood since just after the war. "Long time no see."

"Time's been good to you, Harry," the Scot replied as he took Harry's hand and gave him an appreciative once over.

"You too," Harry noted, and he wasn't lying. The man still kept his reddish-brown hair cropped close to his head and his body was far more toned and muscular than it had been in school, but he otherwise looked much the same. He was handsome back at Hogwarts and he was equally so these many years later.

"So, how's my favorite Gryffindor Seeker?" he asked, his smile warm and inviting.

"I've been good," Harry replied easily. He felt comfortable with the man. He knew Oliver well enough to know he wasn't slime, but not so well that he didn't find him attractive. In fact, the heat growing in his groin pointed out to Harry exactly how attractive he found Oliver Wood after all these years. "I've been an Auror since the war, so close to making department head I can almost taste it," he laughed. "You've done Puddlemere well, I've seen."

"We're going to the cup this year," he beamed. "It was confirmed just last night. This will make our seventh straight victory."

"Brilliant. You'll win it for sure," Harry cheered. He was so enthralled with his conversation with Wood that he hadn't noticed Ron slip away, or the group of watchful friends analyzing his every word and gesture as they stood in the other room pretending to be chatting amongst themselves. In fact, he was having such a fluid and entertaining conversation that he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy lingering in the corner eating up their every word. He also didn't notice the slight frown on the blond's face when Harry leaned over and grazed Wood's arm or laughed genuinely at his jokes.

Before Harry realized it, he looked up to see Hermione yawning and noticed it was almost two in the morning. He'd been so wrapped up in his date that the time had just flown by him without pause. "So," Harry started, suddenly quite bashful, "do you think you might have time for dinner sometime? I mean, only if your Quidditch practice permits, and if you want to… er, do you?"

Oliver chuckled and leaned over, brushing his thumb along Harry's cheekbone before nodding. "I'd like that," he replied. "Maybe next weekend?"

Harry nodded and grinned, unable to care if he looked like an idiot. Finally he'd met someone he could really entertain the idea of a long happy life with. He had loads in common with Wood, there was definitely chemistry there, and Harry already knew he was a decent bloke, even if he was a little Quidditch obsessed. "Excellent. Just Owl me when you're available."

"It was really great to see you again, Harry," Oliver replied, his smile warming Harry to the core before he turned and said his goodbyes to the rest of the group and left.

Harry was staring at the door Oliver had closed behind him when he felt a warm arm twine around his waist. "So, that looked successful," Ginny chirped.

"You think?" Harry asked, the stupid grin still prominently in place.

"Definitely," Hermione answered, her gaze flicking from Harry's face to just behind him. Harry turned in Ginny's grip to find a scowling Malfoy leaning elegantly against the wall.

"It seems you have a new admirer, Potter," he goaded. "I'm sure you're tickled."

"Jealous, Malfoy?" Harry replied, his tone snarky despite his lingering good mood.

"Of you?" he replied, and Harry merely grinned triumphantly and nodded. "Hardly," Draco answered. "Wood's no big prize."

"No, certainly not," Harry mused sarcastically. "He's only the most brilliant Keeper on the most successful Quidditch team in the world. Nothing special at all."

"I suppose that's all well and good if you like Quidditch," he remarked.

"I do," Harry replied smugly.

"_Immensely_," Draco added with a frown.

"I do," Harry repeated, pleased to have the last word with Malfoy at last. He turned and bid his friends farewell amongst a smattering of good lucks and kisses on the cheek. When he got to the end of the receiving line, he found Malfoy standing there smugly.

"What's wrong, Potter, no goodbye kiss for your dear friend Draco?" he asked, his mouth twitching with mirth at Harry's discomfort.

"I don't have any friend's by that name," Harry replied and promptly left the party. He was relieved to be out of Malfoy's presence, but the blond's smile lingered in his vision even when he climbed into bed. He banished it away with thoughts of Wood and what their next date might hold. As usual, Professor Amore was a brilliant woman with excellent ideas. He might just owe her his happiness just as surely as Ron and Luna owed her theirs.

Author's Note: Sausage anyone?


	3. The Meeting

Author's Note: Thanks again to Kasey, Shannon and TutelaTwin for their beta work. This story is a lot of fun to write now that the set up is out of the way. Congrats to all who predicted Oliver in the last chapter. This story is going to circulate around the triangle between Wood, Malfoy and Potter, so he's going to be around for a while. Get used to him. *wink. I thought I would be nice this lovely Friday and post up a chapter of this story early. I'm not nice often, so bask in it. lol

Chapter 3 The Meeting

Saturday began rather foggy and dank outside, but Harry's mood was not reflected or diluted by the nasty weather. He'd had a brilliant time with Oliver the night before and had even managed to stump Malfoy as he left. It had been a perfect evening so far as he was concerned. As he sifted through the morning mail, tossing aside the _Daily Prophet_ as he always did and chunking several advertisements for healing potions in the bin, he realized he had a note from both Oliver and Malfoy in the pile. He stared at them both with curiosity tinged with excitement.

He opened Oliver's first, smiling as he looked down at the harried handwriting that matched his own scribble quite well.

_Harry,_

_I couldn't stop thinking about you last night, and I must admit I was a bit reluctant to agree to a date until Ron told me who it would be with. I'm not much of a relationship guy because I'm so busy with practice and games, but if you'll have me, I really would like to make plans to meet up again. I'm free on Thursday night if you are. We can meet here at the Puddlemere pitch and I can show you around._

_Olli_

Harry snickered at the nickname and could see it really growing on him. "Olli, breakfast is ready," he tried and smiled to himself at the casual ease he felt at saying the man's name, not to mention the ache he felt when he thought of having the man staying over so that he could serve him breakfast the next morning.

A thrill went through him and he bit into his bottom lip to quell it. There was no use getting ahead of himself, especially since he had no intention of buggering Wood on their second date. He wrote back a quick acceptance, letting the other man know he'd been thinking of him as well, and that he'd be pleased to join him on the pitch Thursday evening. Then, he looked reluctantly to Malfoy's letter and decided he had best get it over with.

_Potter,_

_Did you enjoy my sausage at breakfast this morning? I do hope you ravaged it properly. Do you have lunch plans?_

_DM_

Harry blinked several times as he looked down at the parchment, his face heating up beyond measure. He hadn't forgotten the sausage incident. In fact, every time he looked in the icebox, a warm smile came over him and he chuckled involuntarily. He'd served himself a slice with his fruit and eggs that morning and he was enjoying it immensely, not that he'd ever tell Malfoy that of course.

_Malfoy,_

_As a matter of fact, the sausage is in my mouth right now and it's a tad too spicy for my taste. Perhaps if hell were to freeze over and cool it off, maybe then I'd ravish it properly – as you so delicately put it._

_And yes, I have plans for lunch, and no, they do not include you or your sausage._

_Harry _

He didn't actually have plans for lunch, but he figured it wouldn't be too hard to make them so that he wouldn't feel like so much of a liar. Draco's note made him chuckle in spite of himself but he knew the man was just toying with him. It was simply Malfoy's way of trying to make Harry feel uncomfortable; in fact, the man might be able to write a book about all the ways he'dsuccessfully tormented the great Harry Potter over the years. But Harry wasn't falling for it this time. He knew there was nothing but hollow sarcasm behind every single one of his words.

He was cleaning off his breakfast plate when he saw a familiar shape in the distance through his kitchen window. He hardly thought the owl had time to deliver both letters before he came back with another one from Malfoy.

_Potter,_

_Perhaps my sausage is an acquired taste? Maybe you should give it a chance?_

_Malfoy _

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't squash the smile that invaded his features at the suggestive note. He knew he shouldn't have bothered to read it, as Malfoy was just trying to shake his confidence, but now that he was officially dating Wood, sort of, his nerve wasn't so easily challenged.

_Malfoy,_

_I'm sure your sausage would be perfectly enjoyable…to someone else._

_Harry _

He watched the note fly away with his owl and left the house before Malfoy could write something back. He could see why the blond always seemed to have to get the last word in. It was rather fun to leave someone gaping. The only thing that could have made it better would have been to see Malfoy's face as he read the dismissive letter. Doubtless it was rare for someone to turn the blond down, but Harry wasn't falling for his nonsense.

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It had been awhile since he'd visited Hermione at Hogwarts and he thought a Saturday lunch visit would be just the thing to fix that as well as keep up the charade he'd given Malfoy at the same time.

Since it was Saturday, he suspected Hermione would be poring over papers in her office, so Harry Apparated into Hogsmeade and made the trek up to the castle. The fissures and holes that had marred the lovely school after the war were long since repaired and Harry couldn't even see a trace of them left behind, a fact for which he was immensely grateful. It was difficult enough to deal with the memories of the place in which Harry had grown up and fought for his life countless times without having visible reminders of all the loss he'd suffered there.

He made his way through the familiar corridors and knocked on Hermione's office door. He'd been right about her being holed away there, but she wasn't grading papers, she was relaxing with tea and she wasn't alone at all.

When she opened the door, Harry saw Ginny and Luna both sitting around the fireplace with their own teacups in hand. "I'm sorry, Mione. I should have fire-called first. I didn't realize you would have company."

"No worries, Harry," she replied with a beaming smile. "Come in, we were just talking about you actually."

"About me?" Harry asked as she ushered him into her immaculate office space. Not a single item was out of place on her desk, which was covered in neat, orderly piles of paperwork and rich, burgundy leather accessories.

"We were discussing you and your many suitors," Ginny piped in with a gossip-mongering grin.

"And those would be?" Harry asked, taking a seat and a cup of tea for himself. He would be ridiculed incessantly if any of their husbands were to walk in and catch Harry taking tea with the ladies as if he were a stuffed bunny at an imaginary tea party, but Harry always found it best not to argue when these three women were together. They could be rather frightening if challenged.

"We've all been so absorbed in our own relationships that we've overlooked the fact that you haven't had one in a while," Hermione clarified. "Now that we see you being pursued by both Oliver and Draco, we wonder where you'll end up."

"I hardly think having one nice conversation with Oliver could be referred to as pursuing, and Malfoy?" he asked, his eyebrows arching in humor. "You're joshing, right? Malfoy was put on this Earth to make me miserable, nothing more."

"I think he's quite taken with you," Ginny corrected. "Clive even mentioned that he asked after you a time or two."

"Probably to find out where I would be so he could annoy me with sausages," Harry muttered.

"Sausages?" the women asked in unison and Harry flushed.

"Nothing, it's nothing. Anyhow, I like Oliver. I'm seeing him again Thursday night," Harry told them, casually steering the subject away from Malfoy and his meat stick.

"Splendid," Luna cooed. "I do like him quite a bit. I think he'd be a brilliant boyfriend for you, Harry."

"Well, Professor Amore is an expert. Her advice gave me Oliver, and I couldn't be more pleased at the moment. I guess we'll see as far as the rest goes," he mused.

The women exchanged knowing glances and smiled at one another before directing their attention back to Harry. "I suppose it's good you asked Ron to set you up. Had you asked me, I would have paired you with Draco."

"Thanks, Gin. I always suspected the others were better friends than you," he teased.

She stuck out her tongue at him and pursed her lips cutely. "I think Draco's a fine catch."

"I'm sure he is," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes.

"He's very lovely," Luna admitted.

"And clever," Hermione added.

"And I hear he has a large cock," Ginny chimed in with a wicked grin.

"Well good. I'll let Clive know you're leaving him for Malfoy," Harry shot back before giving the other women withering glances. "Why is no one happy about Oliver?"

"We're very happy about Oliver if you're happy about Oliver," Hermione pointed out.

"But if things don't work out with Wood, you could always shag Draco," Ginny added with a laugh as the other women joined in her mirth.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried very hard not to have similar thoughts. "I'm not dating Draco Malfoy," he replied resolutely. "I need someone I can love and trust, not just a one night stand with a smirking Slytherin."

"Draco's not as bad as you make him out to be, Harry," Ginny replied. "He's actually quite different than he was in school. I think he'd surprise you."

"I'm not so sure about that," Harry replied, remembering the stunted conversation and unexpected kiss he'd shared with the man not that long ago, coupled with his sarcastically flirtatious attitude since. He seemed like the same sneering Malfoy to him, although, he would be a brilliant kisser from what Harry could recall from the other night. Still, it took more than a few delicious snogs to constitute a relationship that Harry would want to stick with. He and Malfoy were just too different to be properly compatible.

"What happened when you two disappeared looking for wine the other night?" Luna asked with waggling eyebrows. "You were gone for quite a while and then you avoided him like the plague."

"Nothing happened," he lied with a finality in his tone that made the three women drop the subject – for the moment. "I'm meeting with Professor Amore tonight so that she can give me some pointers for my next date with Oliver."

"You're meeting with the professor?" Ginny asked, somewhat shocked. "_In person_?"

"Yeah," Harry replied with a frown. "What's wrong with that?"

"Nothing," she answered quickly. "I'm just surprised is all. The professor is usually very… reclusive."

"What is she like, a hag?" Harry joked.

"Definitely not," Ginny replied, glancing at Luna who smiled knowingly.

"Wait, you know her too?" he asked.

"We all do," Hermione replied. "Professor Amore matched us all. We each took the ten step program and it was successful for all three of us."

"What?!" Harry exclaimed. "How did I not know that?"

"We made an unbreakable vow not to reveal the professor's identity to anyone who didn't already know it," Ginny replied. "We all owe our happy marriages to the program."

"So, she really knows her stuff then?" Harry observed. He didn't know any couples happier than these three and their husbands. "I'm looking forward to meeting her."

"It will be memorable for sure," Hermione said, and the other women exchanged knowing looks before bursting out in a fit of raucous giggles.

Harry looked at them all curiously and shook his head. "Barmy, all of you," he murmured before excusing himself from Hermione's office and their cryptic comments.

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He came back to another letter from Malfoy, and this one he ignored outright. He wasn't willing to put himself in a bad mood before his meeting with Professor Amore.

Harry tried to wait until at least seven fifty-nine before Apparating to his eight o'clock appointment, but he couldn't hold out any longer. As such, he found himself on her doorstep at a quarter till.

He was dressed casually in simple black robes over well-tailored trousers and a freshly pressed, steely blue jumper. His hair was tamer than usual and he'd forgone his glasses in exchange for a temporary vision spell. He took a deep breath and raised his hand to knock on the townhouse door, hope filling his very bones.

He was anxious about this meeting, he had no idea what to expect. Did she want to write a book about him, just document his progress for her own personal reports or was there something more to it? Most of his friends seemed to know her well enough that it made Harry nervous. What if she didn't like him as much as she'd liked all of them? What if she told them things that happened within their private meetings and his friends laughed at him?

Shaking that thought off as just silly, Harry rocked back and forth on his heels while he waited. Professor Amore would be kind and professional and just as compassionate as she seemed in her published letters, he was sure of it. Though, he wanted desperately to know if he already knew the woman. What if they were already acquainted? Would that make the lessons more or less awkward? Perhaps it was one of the professor's at Hogwarts? It would certainly explain the name and how Hermione and Neville had met her. What if it was Headmistress McGonagall? Could he talk to her about sex and men and dating?

He had practically scared himself off the stoop with that question, but he stayed glued to the spot and busied his frantic mind by looking at the scenery around him.

Professor Amore lived in a quaint home made of sparkling white stone and dark green shutters. It even had a little white picket fence out front, which Harry thought was a unique touch for the middle of London. The door matched the shutters and since no one answered the first time, Harry knocked again, this time a little louder.

Sheer curtains were drawn against all the windows but Harry could see the shadowy silhouette of someone coming to answer the door. He'd created a picture in his mind of Professor Amore; small and curvy with curly brown hair and a warm welcoming smile, but the person coming to answer the door was a tall, thin man from what he could tell through the window; probably her husband, or perhaps an assistant. Professor Amore was a busy woman after all and couldn't possibly do _everything_ herself.

Harry found himself rather hopeful after the odd conversation with his friends that afternoon. If they had all be matched and married through Professor Amore, she must really be quite talented. Surely she could help him just the same with his relationship with Oliver?

As the door opened, Harry straightened his posture and smiled, preparing to extend his hand in greeting when his eyes took in the figure in the doorway. Tall, blond and devastatingly handsome, it wasn't at all what he'd expected.

"You're early," the man remarked, obviously surprised but not quite as surprised as Harry felt.

"Malfoy?" Harry asked, bewildered beyond comprehension. "You work for Professor Amore?"

The man laughed, a deep, groin tightening sound and shook his head. "I'm afraid not, Potter."

"Then what are you doing here?" Harry asked, unable to put the pieces of the puzzle together in his shocked state.

"I live here," he answered, gesturing to the flawless building. "I take it you're Lonely Lion," he added with his trademark smirk. Harry nodded dumbly as the obvious crashed into him and left him bereft of a coherent retort. "What an interesting turn of events," Draco mused. "I'm Professor Amore. Do come inside."

Author's Note: Ah yes, so many of you predicted this outcome, and I suppose it was sort of obvious from the start, but doesn't it make poor Harry's delusion that much funnier? The poor dear. And, for those of you familiar with my other stories, I've brought the meddling women back in a new incarnation.


	4. Bloody Hell

Author's Note: Many thanks to my newest beta, Kasey, for her work on this chapter as well as my ever present betas, Shannon & TutelaTwin. Big thanks as well to everyone who has been reviewing the story thus far. I'm nothing without my editors and readers!

Chapter 4 Bloody Hell

A sputtering Harry Potter on his doorstep was not exactly what he expected to walk out to, but Draco could easily do worse, he supposed. They'd been standing there in a staring contest for what seemed like an hour already and Draco was determined to win.

"But, Professor Amore is a woman," Harry complained as he made some floating gesture across Draco's body, "and you're not!"

"How marvelously observant you are, Potter," Draco replied drolly. "I assure you that you wouldn't be the first close-minded dolt to make that mistake, but alas, I am Professor Amore, always have been."

"I'm sure the articles have mentioned that Professor Amore is a woman," Harry muttered, talking more to himself now than to Malfoy. "I'm just sure of it, and Luna's never corrected me."

"She wouldn't be allowed," Draco responded lightly. "Now, are you coming in or am leaving you out here?"

"What do you mean, not allowed?" Harry couldn't think of a single valid reason why she couldn't have given Harry some inkling as to the identity of whom he was about to meet with. "Unbreakable vow or no, someone should have clued me in as to who I was spilling my guts out to."

"I'd hardly call any of our conversations 'gut-spilling'. You talked to me as Draco Malfoy more than you spoke to me as Professor Amore," he huffed. He was getting quite tired of standing out on his stoop, waiting for Harry to stop blubbering about injustices and just come inside already or go away entirely; it made little difference to him at the moment.

"It's still not right for you to trick people." The gleam of Auror integrity was apparent in Harry's eyes, but Malfoy could only deem to roll his own.

"What would you expect I do? Write a column titled 'Advice from a Death Eater'?" he scoffed. "I'm sure that would get hundreds of readers," he added sarcastically. "No one would dare seek advice on love from an unmarried, former Voldemort sympathizer."

"How does someone like you even end up writing an advice column?" Harry remarked snidely. "It's nonsense."

"If you have an issue with the advice I give, then why did you write in?" he snapped. He didn't have to stand there and listen to high and mighty Harry Potter disparage him at his own home.

A blush stung Harry's cheeks and his shoulders slumped in resignation. The blond was right; as much as Harry was loath to admit it. Harry had trusted, respected, even praised Professor Amore's advice up until he found out her – well, his – identity. It was bigoted of him to complain about the column now that he knew Malfoy was behind it, and only served to prove Malfoy's explanation as to why he used the penname to begin with. "You're right," he sighed in defeat. "I'm here because I respect Professor Amore, and if under that mask is you, then I'll just have to deal with it."

The newly calm demeanor took Draco off guard. It was as if someone had blown up a massive balloon and then watched as it deflated from a seemingly insignificant pinprick. He liked Potter, probably a good deal more than he should, but most of his recent taunting had been fun and games – or so he had thought until he saw Potter with Wood. The tug of jealousy he'd felt last night was undeniable. Still, it was in all likelihood that Harry was a terrible match for him. It took a keen eye to discern between good looks – which Harry clearly had – and a good lifetime partner, which Draco was still patiently looking for. He had mostly given up hope, but not entirely. Part of him felt it was only justly ironic that his best talent seemed to lie in the perfect pairing of others while his own match remained consistently out of his grasp. But it didn't stop him from wanting it nonetheless.

"So, are you coming in?" he asked at last, because he still wasn't entirely clear on that fact and desperately wanted out of the cool night air.

Harry seemed to steel himself and nodded, following Draco into a warm sitting room to the west of the foyer.

Draco was neither a minimalist, nor was he a collector of useless junk. His townhouse was richly decorated with things that were either comfortable or deeply sentimental and there wasn't a single nook Draco didn't live in. He was well beyond the days when he'd have to try and avoid punishment from his mother because he'd forgotten and strolled through a sitting room in the Manor that he wasn't allowed to actually _sit in_. The colors he'd selected were warm and inviting, tans, ambers, and dark gold accents. He could tell by Harry's slightly gaping expression that the man was surprised.

"What, did you expect everything to be Slytherin green?" Draco quipped as he wandered over to a small bar in the corner. He could almost feel the heat of Potter's blush from across the room and shook his head in mock dismay. "Some of us have grown up a bit since Hogwarts."

"Since the war," Harry corrected, his voice soft and reverent. "The war changed a lot of people."

"Too true. Without the war I might not have evolved into the person I am now," he mused. "Though I might be tempted to give up my current happiness to have avoided it altogether."

"That's more selfless than I would have given you credit for, Malfoy." The look on Harry's face showed he was both amused and puzzled by the blond pouring drinks. This didn't go unnoticed by Draco, of course, but it wasn't commented upon.

"Care for a drink?" he asked instead.

"I'll have whatever you're having," Harry replied as he did another quick scan around the room. "This house really is splendid, Malfoy."

"So happy you approve," he responded dryly as he handed the man a martini glass filled with icy, clear liquid and two brilliant green olives. "I assume you'd like to know about the program?" he started but Harry shook his head.

"I don't think I can do that," he admitted. "I'm not willing to share so much of my personal life with you."

"The Unbreakable Vow goes both ways, you know," Draco sighed, obviously exasperated at Potter's fickle behavior this evening. "You wouldn't be able to reveal my secrets, nor I yours."

"Yes, but you would still know them regardless of whether or not you were allowed to tell anyone else." Harry seemed firm on this, unbendable, but Malfoys had ways and charms that Potter had probably never seen before. Providing a lasting match for Harry Potter would be a crowning achievement indeed, even if he weren't permitted to speak of it, just knowing he had helped the Gryffindor Golden Boy find true love would be a thrilling personal accomplishment.

"Why does that matter? It's not as though you care what I think," Draco goaded, but Harry narrowed his eyes and wasn't so easily dared into situations as he had been as a boy. "Look at it this way, ten sessions with me will provide you with a happily-ever-after. Is that too steep a price to pay? Am I really so abhorrent that you would give up true love simply to avoid telling me minor personal details about your life?"

"No." Draco couldn't tell at first if it was another refusal of his assistance, or an acceptance of his latest argument, but Harry's eyes seemed rather conflicted still so he pushed a bit further.

"How about this, I could give you my personality test, which will gauge what kind of partner would be perfect for you, and then you can decide. That way, you can get some hint of my experience in these matters and I can get an idea of how difficult you'd be as a client." He kept his voice light and casual but truly he was dying to give Potter the test and hear his answers.

"What would it involve?" Harry asked skeptically, but Draco didn't think he was mistaken when he saw a hint of intrigue in those expressive green eyes.

"Just a few questions, and then I can weigh you against my other candidates," Draco replied.

"But I'm dating Oliver," Harry corrected and Draco nodded.

"I can get the answers from him too if you like and we can compare your results with him as well," he offered.

"How would you get his answers?"

"I have my ways," Draco replied, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"Keep your _ways_ to yourself," Harry huffed but couldn't seem to help returning a warm grin when Draco smiled. "I'll take it," he said at last and only Draco's decades of Malfoy training kept him from jumping and shouting in victory.

"So, first I need you to tell me about the last three people you dated," Draco told him, leaning back in his chair. He made a funny jerk with his hand and a quill and parchment materialized in front of him and he began to take notes as Harry spoke.

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Sitting across from Draco Malfoy and actually _relaxing_ would have seemed out of the question just a few moments before, but now Harry found himself comfortable in Malfoy's quiet company as he told the man about things he'd rarely spoken of.

The last few men he'd dated all varied greatly. Most recently there was George Weasley, which had been a terrible mistake. He found the man attractive but more importantly, familiar. One afternoon while reaching for Molly's potato salad at Sunday lunch, his hand brushed against George's and a sort of spark went though him. He remembered how handsome the older redhead looked when he blushed and it had made Harry confident enough to ask him out. Up until then, his relationships had been rather shallow, other Aurors who were always working long hours, reporters who tricked him into thinking they weren't reporters at all, and plenty of people who simply wanted a chance to bed the famous Harry Potter.

That was what made George a breath of fresh air. He knew George; he trusted him and above all else he knew that the redhead wouldn't strive to hurt him as previous boyfriends had. Their first – and only - date was at a Muggle amusement park and Harry had a magnificent time. They played carnival games and George even won him a small stuffed frog and proceeded to call Harry 'Neville' for the next hour or so. They ate funnel cake and rode roller coasters and Harry thought for a brief instant that George might just be the one.

Then there was the Ferris wheel.

Harry was high on the brilliant day they'd had and his stomach was comfortably aching with sugary, deep-fried food, when their tiny rocking car reached the top and they had a view of the entire park and well beyond. It wasn't typically like Harry to kiss a man on their first date, but this was George Weasley, he'd known the other man since he was a boy, so without a second thought he'd leaned over and kissed George full on the mouth. The redhead tasted of cotton candy and saltwater taffy and his lips were soft and pliable, but in the end, it felt more like kissing his brother. There were no more sparks, no more passion. They were just really good friends. Admittedly, now they were slightly awkward friends who always looked at the ground when they greeted one another.

Harry sighed and related the tale of dating George as best as he could and was rather shocked when Draco simply nodded, as if he wasn't even the least bit surprised or disgusted that Harry had dated a Weasley.

"So, you dated a man that was more a brother than a lover because you've been burned before?" he asked wisely.

"Yes, I suppose that was the driving factor of it," Harry admitted to the floor.

"Tell me about some of those other relationships," he prompted and Harry thought about the man he had dated before George. Orsino Thruston was the drummer for the Weird Sisters and Harry thought that since he was used to the spotlight himself, that Harry's own fame would be rather unimportant to him. He'd been wrong there too. He and Orsino went out for three months before Harry found a flyer announcing himself as the special guest of the band. They'd been using his relationship with the drummer as a selling point to attract fans and ticket buyers. It was quite mortifying since Harry had been under the delusion that things were going well, and to make matters worse, Orsino didn't even seem to feel guilty about using him when Harry confronted the man about it.

Before Orsino was Marius Welch, a wealthy businessman who was only a year older than Harry but very clever when it came to Ministry politics and making money and connections. They had only dated for a month before Harry got a call from Gringotts that Marius was trying to access his vaults without proper authorization. Apparently he'd found the Gringotts account information lying around Harry's study and hadn't realized until it was too late that Harry's vault was in a very high security area of the famed bank. The goblins had fun with him that day, vicious creatures that they were, and Harry didn't do a single thing to stop them.

"So," Draco replied after Harry had finished, "you aren't respected for yourself, only your money and fame, and those who are close enough for you to trust are too close for you to be attracted to," he observed after a moment's pause.

"That's exactly it," Harry nodded, happy to be both understood and clean from ridicule, two things he hadn't expected would be happening in the presence of a Malfoy.

"Do you have any physical attributes you're usually attracted to?" he asked and Harry shook his head.

"Not really. I mean, I'd rather a fit bloke than a lazy layabout, but I don't prefer brunets over blonds or anything like that."

"Good to know," Draco replied with a subtle smirk and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Or blonds to brunets for that matter," Harry quickly added upon seeing the look.

"Do you travel a lot as an Auror?" he asked, ignoring Harry's correction.

"Not really. I occasionally need to travel overnight, but most field work can be accomplished during reasonable hours these days," Harry mused. "It can get somewhat dangerous though, so I suppose the perfect companion would need to be okay with that."

"Okay with it as in silent about it, or okay with it as in smother you with tender kisses whenever you walked through the door unharmed?"

Harry's face heated up and he smiled. "It's always nice to be appreciated," he answered vaguely but Draco made a little note and smiled warmly at him.

"Kisses it is," he quipped before moving on. "Let's see, I already know you're an only child, which indicates you'll need an attentive lover, a fact that's only amplified by the fact that you grew up not knowing your parents."

"Are you calling me needy?" Harry balked and Draco laughed.

"In a word, yes, but your ideal match won't mind, in fact, they'll like to know that they are wanted and needed," Draco soothed.

Harry could hardly believe how diplomatic Malfoy was being, which was probably the only thing keeping him in his seat through the slightly humiliating set of questions. "I suppose that's okay then," he huffed dramatically, smiling back when Malfoy gave him a playful grin.

"Most of these I already know the answer to. You're a leader, practically born into the role whether you like it or not, you have a diverse set of friends, but they are all well rounded and intelligent…well, most of them," he mused and ignored Harry's scowl. "How would you rate your tendency toward tidiness? On a scale of one to ten, one being Hagrid and ten being Umbridge?"

"Er, a six maybe, though some days it might be a four," he replied, wincing slightly.

Draco let his eyes flick overtly to Harry's wild mane and he nodded. "I guessed as much."

"That's unfair." Harry's pout was mostly manufactured, but the words still stung slightly despite his best efforts to keep them from doing so. What did he care if Malfoy liked his hair or not? "There isn't anything I can do about this," he told the man as he pointed to his thick, black mop of hair.

Draco looked at him skeptically and shot a few carefully aimed grooming Charms at the man, only to watch each one fizzle away as if Harry's innate magic repelled them. With a frustrated huff, Draco got up and attempted to physically manipulate the locks, only to finally give up when they looked exactly the same as they had at the start. "I suppose I'll have to concede on that one. Although, it's softer than I thought it would be," he mused to himself, but Harry tensed at the words, realizing his whole body had gone slack at the feel of Draco's lithe fingers massaging his scalp.

The blond pulled away with a start and resumed his place in the chair across from Harry, carefully averting his gaze until he asked his next question. "Do you want children?"

"Yes," Harry replied immediately. This was a question he had zero doubts about. He had spent his whole life wanting a family of his own.

"How many?"

"At least one, maybe two," he replied. "I don't care if they are boys or girls but I know for a fact I'd like to adopt one day."

Draco scanned the list of remaining questions and went through them quickly enough, asking about what the man did in his free time, how easily he got bored, what his friends might say about him, and the men bounced back and forth with their banter all evening. It was much more enjoyable than Harry had ever anticipated it could be, but he was wary of continuing to meet Malfoy this way in the future. He didn't think Oliver would understand his wanting to take dating lessons and part of him even felt silly for even considering it. Things between he and Wood would either click or they wouldn't and they were off to a brilliant start so far, so Harry didn't think he had much to worry about.

When the questioning drew to a close, Draco made a few last notations and leveled his wise gaze on the troubled looking man. "Well, I should have your prognosis shortly and just as soon as I can get Wood's answers, I'll let you know the verdict."

"You make it sound so serious, like you're about to tell me whether or not the test came back positive for Dragon Pox," Harry teased, but Draco's stern look didn't waver.

"It _is_ serious, Potter. When dealing with matters of the heart you can leave nothing to chance. Every action has a reasonably predictable reaction as long as you know the type of person you're dealing with. Some couples are never meant to cultivate relationships, and some are better suited than others. This test will tell me what I need to know about you and Oliver and your chances at success and if you choose to continue with me, it will help me direct you to the best course of action. No ten steps are the same for everyone," he explained.

Harry sobered at once and nodded. He seemed to have caused the blond some offence and he hadn't meant to. Harry did take all of it quite seriously; in fact, he probably shouldn't put as much stock into it as he did. Still, his friends had all been matched and married this way, and they were all so happy. It couldn't hurt for Harry to give it a try. Maybe Oliver would even be open to the idea and come along.

"Everyone has a potential soul mate, Potter. It's my job to help you notice him when he's standing right in front of you," Draco told him.

"I think I've found him," Harry whispered and Draco's eyes went wide at the look of tenderness in Harry's emerald gaze. "Oliver is quite the guy."

"Right," Draco replied, crashing down to Earth rather hastily. "On the surface, Wood looks to be a good match for you. My test will prove that true or false for certain."

"Well," Harry replied with a smile, "this has been surprisingly nice. Maybe this not-so-snarky Malfoy will be the one to show up on Fridays from now on."

"I wouldn't count on it," Draco replied with a wink. "I enjoy being snarky."

Harry rolled his eyes, but the smile never fell from his lips. "I look forward to hearing my results." He stood to take his leave and Draco matched his steps as they wandered back to the doorway. "Until then." Harry gave Draco a parting bow and turned to leave, failing to notice that Draco stood in the doorway and watched his receding footsteps until the messy-haired Gryffindor was well out of sight.

Author's Note: Harry, Harry, Harry. So oblivious. Whatever will Draco do with him? *shakes head.


	5. No News is Good News

Author's Note: Thanks again to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon, my betas, as well as all the people who have been reading and reviewing the story thus far. This is easily one of my favorite things to write at the moment (in the midst of 17 projects that's saying something).

Chapter 5 No News is Good News

It was easier than Draco had suspected it would be to get the answers to his personality test from Oliver Wood. The man was so used to being a sought after celebrity athlete, all Draco had to do was bribe one of his fellow staff members at the Quibbler to slip all of his questions into a fake interview. He chose Molly Rothschild, because she owed him for setting her up with her husband, a famous Healer at St. Mungo's. She was coy, knowing the questions before she even finished scanning the document, having taken the same test herself, but surprisingly she didn't ask who wanted to know about Wood's results. She probably assumed it was Draco who fancied the Quidditch star but the blond didn't bother correcting her.

She had the answers for him within a few days and Draco tabulated the answers, comparing them carefully to Potter's. By some strange miracle the men turned out to be a great match. They both had similar goals and interests, similar backgrounds, and the same passion for their work. Just like Potter, Wood had just a few close friends while he tried to maintain his privacy in the wizarding world as much as his career would allow him. Outside of Quidditch he was laid back and mellow, content to lounge in bed with a lover and simply listen to the Wireless. All and all, Draco could find little fault with him, and neither could the union spell he'd cast on the documents, which was a mixed blessing.

Part of Draco had hoped he could Owl Harry and tell him that Oliver was a rubbish match, and try and persuade him to go out to dinner with him instead, but the more reasonable side of Draco's brain knew that this pairing was a brilliant turn of events. Both Harry and Oliver were immersed in the glow of public curiosity and such a star-studded match was sure to draw attention, which Draco would cleverly direct toward his matchmaking business. With a successful couple like Potter and Wood on his resume, Draco could finally reveal himself as the man behind Professor Amore. His reputation as a Voldemort sympathizer wouldn't hold a candle to the instant respect he would garner for his craft if a marriage were to take place between the two celebrities.

There were several levels of bonds the spell he used on the results could predict. The topmost level was the pure bond, the namesake given from the burst of pure white light expelled when the spell activated. It symbolized soul mates, which were far more rare than people speculated, in fact, Draco had never seen that bond come up between two people he'd matched throughout his entire career. The next was the golden bond, which was what most of the clientele he worked with achieved. It was a powerful, long-term match that always meant a lasting marriage was imminent between the pair. Lesser was the silver bond, which showed love and admiration, but was usually somewhat one-sided. Even if a pair with a silver bond was to marry, one would always be chasing after the other and they would never be true partners in every way. Outside of these three bonds, Draco rarely bothered with a couple. There were several other levels, but they were all destined for hardship and Draco didn't like to sully his reputation with those pairings.

Potter and Wood shared a golden bond, same as all of Harry's friends had shared, which meant that, with a little coaxing, they could form a life-long companionship. It was powerful magic he evoked when doing what he did best, and even had he wanted to, he couldn't interfere with a golden bond once it was sealed and announced through the initial spell he used. His life would be cursed and forfeit were he to even try.

He reasoned that it didn't matter anyway if he had a personal interest in the Gryffindor hero. Potter was a looker for sure; darkly handsome and adorable even as he stammered in conversation, but it was a shallow observation, one that Draco could find in any number of wizards this side of the pond. If he were to look deeper, Draco was certain his own profile wouldn't match with Potter's at all, let alone the nearly perfect match of the golden bond Potter shared with Wood.

Eager to alert Potter to his findings and get his lessons underway, Draco wandered into his study and extracted a scroll and quill to scribble out a short letter to the Gryffindor. He would have preferred to meet the man in person, but he assumed Harry would be ensconced in his Auror duties at this time of day.

Even in his haste, his scrawl was elegant, and Draco quickly sealed the letter and sent it away with his eagle owl, Shadow. He watched impatiently as the owl flew off in the direction of the Ministry building and sighed, wishing he could just fire call the man and get an instant answer.

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Harry was covered in soot and grime when he got back to headquarters. He'd spent the entire morning helping officials put out a fire started with several strategically placed _Incendios_ on a Muggle daycare building. It was atrocious the kind of evil it would take to attack defenseless children, but luckily everyone was spared and the worst of the harm had been to the building, not to the people inside. Once he helped get the blaze under control, he had to wipe the memories of all the Muggles that had gathered to watch.

He was so exhausted that he couldn't even spare the energy for a cleansing Charm, so he was rather grateful when Hermione popped by with lunch. He ignored her look of distaste and lectures on personal grooming since she had him looking spotless with a few clever flicks of her wand. "Really, Harry. How ever are you supposed to meet someone if you don't take care of yourself?"

When he explained about the magical arson she looked suitably chagrined and apologized. "Seriously, Mione," he huffed, "do you think I come into work looking the way I did when you got here?"

"It was a good deal worse than your usual unkemptness," she admitted, smiling when he glared at her. Hermione Granger-Longbottom was impossible.

"What are you doing here on a school day anyway?" Harry asked, glancing at his watch.

"I thought we could chat," she mused. "I have free periods for the rest of the afternoon," she explained at Harry's persistent skepticism. "Okay, fine. I wanted to hear about your date with Malfoy!"

Harry rolled his eyes and sighed, sinking back into his chair. He'd feared this attack for a few days now and frankly he was surprised it hadn't come sooner. In fact, he'd been avoiding his gossiping female friends since Saturday evening for this very reason.

"It wasn't a date," Harry corrected. "But it was fine, if you must know."

"So, obviously you didn't murder one another, does that mean you two are getting along?" she asked.

"I'd hardly jump to that conclusion," he scoffed, "but I find him slightly less repulsive than I did before. I'll even admit he knows what he's doing with his matchmaking business. His profile questions were more insightful than I would have given such a self-absorbed prat credit for."

"You took the personality profile?" she asked, barely keeping her tone within an octave human ears could hear.

"Yes, I did. He was rather insistent." Harry hadn't minded nearly as much as he thought he would. The blond had an ease about him when they were alone that made Harry comfortable.

"So, you're taking the program?" she pressed, but Harry merely shrugged.

"We'll see. I haven't really decided yet. He's going to give the test to Oliver somehow and see if we match up. I guess I'll see from there." The truth of it was, Harry was still going back and forth on his decision. One minute he thought it was a brilliant idea, and the next had him discounting the whole thing. Harry didn't really want to go through dating lessons with Malfoy. It seemed humiliating and so very wrong on many different levels. He knew his friends wouldn't judge him, since they'd all been through the program themselves, but it didn't stop Harry from being leery. This was a man he'd spent the better part of his life loathing, and then suddenly he was supposed to just yield to him and accept love advice? It was hardly an ideal scenario.

"I can't believe you're thinking about refusing," she quipped. "He doesn't do this for just anyone, you know."

"Well, I don't trust him enough yet to simply spill all my personal secrets. Maybe I'll change my mind, but right now I'm just not comfortable with the idea of having Draco inside my brain," he explained.

"I know it's difficult to get over your animosity toward him, trust me I do, but he really is magnificent at what he does," she told him. "You should cut him some slack. Your rivalry is more than a decade old now, Harry."

"I know, I know," Harry sighed, running his hands through his hair with frustration. "I keep telling myself the same thing, but something about being there with him feels off, like he can see straight into my soul when he looks at me. I'm just not sure I can go through with it."

Hermione smiled, just a subtle curve of her mouth and she nodded. "I think I understand completely," she said and stood, smoothing her skirt down as she did. "I know you'll make the choice that's right for you, Harry. Of course we'll all support you no matter what you decide."

"Thanks, Mi," he replied, grateful she had been so easy going about it. When he saw her arrive he had wondered if he should have his assistant clear his schedule for the rest of the day so that he would have time to argue with her. The fact that she gave in so easily was a suspicious relief, but one he wasn't going to argue with at the moment. He was still drained from the day's activities so far and still had to find and capture the madman who had started the fire.

"Don't forget to eat," she prompted, pointing at the brown paper bag she'd left on his desk and slipped out the way she'd come in with a wave. Harry reached for the sack, hungrily pulling out the contents. It was his favorite club sandwich from The Three Broomsticks and a bottle of butterbeer. Hermione knew him so well, why couldn't he ever find a boyfriend who was this considerate?

As he swallowed down his meal, his eyes landed on a scroll he hadn't noticed before. It bore an intricate crest in green foil on the surface and was sealed with black wax. He broke the seal and scanned the document quickly, accidentally smudging mayonnaise on the page as he did. It was from Malfoy of course; no one else would bother with such an ornate scroll for such a simple message.

_Potter,_

_I got the results back from Wood's personality test and I'm happy to note that you two seem to be a great match. I've gone over both of your answers and I've worked up a program I think would best suit you both in trying to achieve your end goal of marriage. Owl me back to let me know what evening will work best for our first lesson. Look forward to seeing you soon._

_DM_

Well, that was a relief at least. Harry had to admit he was a little anxious about whether or not Malfoy would even be able to get the answers and what he would find if he did. He hated to admit it, but part of Harry wondered if he would bother perusing a relationship with Wood if Draco's test told him it wasn't a good match. Time was catching up to Harry and he didn't feel like he had loads of it to waste on someone who was destined not to work out for him.

A little spark fluttered within him as he realized that Malfoy's letter practically told him that he'd finally found the man he was meant to be with. He was so ecstatic that he nearly wrote the blond back to find out if he was available to start lessons as soon as tonight, but caution stilled his hand and he decided to give it more thought before he replied. He'd just told Hermione why he _didn't_ want to begin Malfoy's program, and all of those things were still true. Perhaps he should try to date Oliver as he normally would, without any relationship homework assignments issued by Professor Amore.

He set the parchment aside, willing himself to, at the very least, wait until after work to reply. It was unprofessional to take so much time out of his day thinking about personal business when there was a crazy magical arsonist on the loose. Focusing at last, Harry set up a team of Aurors to survey similar Muggle establishments in the region in case the person responsible tried to strike again, while he and three other Aurors went back to the sight of the first attack. Now that the fire was doused, they had a better chance of finding clues as to the identity of the villain.

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It was so late when Harry finished up at the site of the fire that he totally forgot about the letter Draco had written him earlier in the day. It wasn't until he Apparated home to find Malfoy waiting impatiently on his doorstep that he realized he had forgotten to write back. He grimaced as he approached the angry blond, noticing what appeared to be relief flooding his features before settling back into his indignant mask.

"I thought something might have happened to you," Draco told him, narrowing his eyes.

"Just because I didn't reply to your letter right away?" Harry scoffed, folding his arms across his chest in annoyance. "It's not as if my world revolves around you, Malfoy."

"I'm aware of that, you silly twit," Draco snapped. "I heard about the attack over the Wireless this afternoon and it mentioned that you had been there, but then nothing else. I even went to your office and you weren't there."

"Aw, I didn't know you cared so much, Malfoy," he teased but Draco didn't seem amused. Harry was slightly shocked by the man's overt concern and reached out to grasp his arm. "I'm fine," he assured the blond. "I was helping to put the fire out and trying to investigate who started it. It was nothing out of the ordinary for an Auror."

"Oh," Draco huffed, yanking his arm away. "Of course. They just should have been more specific on in their Wireless reports. I'm sure they managed to get quite a few people in a tizzy for no good reason."

"I'm sure," Harry agreed, stifling the urge to grin. Judging from the state of Malfoy's rumpled robes, he'd been sitting on Harry's stoop for quite some time, and the fact that he'd gone all the way to the Ministry to seek him out and get assurance that he was okay was rather touching.

"Do you want to come inside?" Harry offered, digging his keys out of his robe pocket. He turned away and winced in the very next moment, cursing himself for the brash invite. This was still Malfoy, not some best mate who visited him on social calls. He'd somehow forgotten that they weren't even friends in the midst of his surprise that Malfoy had been concerned for his safety.

"No thanks," Malfoy replied hastily and Harry nodded. Of course the man wouldn't want to, it wasn't as if they were close. "I just wanted to make sure you were alright and see if you got my letter."

"I did," Harry replied, his shoulders slumping as he discovered the real reason for Malfoy's appearance. "I think I'll pass on the lessons. I really appreciate what you've done so far, and it's great news about Oliver and me, really. I'm more than happy to pay you for your time-"

"Don't insult me, Potter," he replied acidly. "It was a merely a favor for a hapless single man."

"Right," Harry replied with a curt nod. Obviously any chance of Malfoy one day being counted among his friends was a silly fantasy. The man clearly wanted nothing to do with Harry outside of his own matchmaking profession. It was a shame really, the evening he'd spent at Malfoy's house had been more enjoyable than he'd expected, but then, the Slytherin always had been a brilliant actor. "Well, I suppose I'll see you around then," he muttered, opening the door before stepping across the threshold. He turned around; giving Malfoy once last glance but the man refused to meet his eyes and shifted away from him.

"Have a nice night, Potter." The tone with which he said the words was rather peculiar, and Harry couldn't understand the resigned quiet that had met his ears. It didn't leave his thoughts though, even as he spooned out and reheated a bowl of stew from a large pot of it he'd made over the weekend, or as he scrubbed the filth from his skin, or even as he climbed into his warm cottony sheets for the night.

Draco had seemed almost sad, but Harry eventually shook away the thought. If the man was sad it certainly had nothing to do with him, nor was it any of his business. Besides, he had other things to worry about. Tomorrow night he would meet Oliver out on the Puddlemere pitch for their second date and he had no idea what to wear.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Draco trudged home, not even bothering to Apparate. Harry's flat was surprisingly close to his own and the fresh air would do him some good. It always cleared his head to go for a walk, and his head certainly needed clearing.

He couldn't believe what an idiot he'd been, rushing over to Potter's office and house like he was some worried spouse. He rolled his eyes even though there was no one around to see him do so. It was ridiculous really, and Draco was dead set on putting this Potter nonsense to rest. Sure he liked Potter, but the Gryffindor clearly liked someone else, and that man was actually a good match for him. It wasn't right to try and get in the way of that. As much as he would have enjoyed slipping into Harry's home and sharing a drink, it seemed he couldn't predict his behavior when the other man was near. That brief, unreturned kiss in Ginevra's wine cellar was proof enough of that.

Had he been anyone else, and not the haughty Malfoy with pure-blood breeding that he was, Draco would have beat his forehead against a wall to drive the thoughts of Harry Potter out of his brain. As it was, he had another, more sophisticated option available to him. Sitting at home, locked up tightly in his private safe, warded by all manners of spells, was his own results to the personality test he'd given Potter. All he had to do was go home and compare his own test to the Gryffindor's and he'd finally be clear of any attraction he might have for the man.

Draco was a devout believer in the test, and the spell results never lied. When Draco discovered that Harry was a poor match for him, he would have no choice but to simply back off and focus his attention on a more worthy subject. It was just a physical chemistry they shared; nothing deeper than the kind of pull one fit bloke might have for another fit bloke. Seeing in person how much Potter had changed from the stumbling boy from Hogwarts into a handsome man that practically reeked of power had simply caught Draco off guard and made him think there might be more to the hero than he had originally thought. Those ludicrous thoughts could easily be remedied though, and he would do that tonight.

With renewed vigor in his step, Draco set a path for his house, not stopping until he reached his study. On the wall adjacent to his desk was a large portrait of his family, and behind that was a safe that held all of the valuables he didn't trust to the Goblins at Gringotts. One of those prized possessions was the pristine parchment that held the answers and profile results to his very own personality test. He'd matched it against every bloke that had taken the test, and even a couple of women he could see himself growing attracted to, but no one had come even close to his high standards.

It was true; Draco was a high maintenance lover. He knew this, and he wasn't the least bit ashamed about it. He was who he was and the person he would spend the rest of his life with would love him _for_ it, not in spite of it. But the man he wanted would need to be more than just attentive and pleasant to look at. They needed to be independent, engaging, powerful, witty and charming. Yes, he was fully aware that it was a tall order, but Draco knew there had to be someone out there who met each and every one of his lofty requirements, he just hadn't found him yet.

Carefully he extracted his results and laid them almost reverently on the top of his desk before pulling Harry's results from the drawer to his left. Side by side, Draco scanned them, looking for any flaw in Potter's answers against his own. When he could find nothing off-putting from Potter's answers alone, he lifted his wand and waved it over the pages. "Amicus vel inimicus," he whispered over the results, watching as they flew into the air in front of them and spun circles around one another. After a moment, both parchments lit brilliantly with color, gold, emerald and fiery red met the silver, blue and deep green of Draco's results until they melted together, first creating a shadowy black before bursting into a white light so glaring that Draco had to avert his eyes.

A woman's voice spoke then, and he knew it was his mother's because that was what he'd devised the spell to do. It helped him heed whatever advice the spell gave because he'd always respected and trusted his mother implicitly. "This is a pure bond," it told him and Draco cringed at the words. "The love you would share would be passionate and true, free of hardship and pain. Your souls are complimentary, and should you choose to move forward, they would remain intertwined long after death."

The spell faded, leaving the parchments clean and smooth on the desk's surface once more and Draco groaned. Staring down at his results, the incantation's proclamation echoing in his ears, Draco was afraid for the first time in ages. He'd already evoked the magic once before and Harry's bond with Oliver Wood was strong, but if he trusted the spell – as he always did – he had actually found his soul mate in none other than Harry Potter. Something like this had never happened before, and he was left at a loss for what he could do about it. Would the magic evoked previously, naming Harry and Oliver as a golden match, thwart him if he were to try and court Harry now? Did he even want that?

Sure he wanted to know and love and hold his soul mate, but Harry was reluctant at best to have anything to do with him. He laughed aloud at the preposterous situation, and staring down at the parchments, shook his head, assuming he must have done something wrong with the incantation the first time.

So he tried again.

And again.

And again, each time with the same results. Magically spent, Draco let his head fall to the desk as he let out a deep sigh. What the hell was he going to do now?

"Fuck."

Author's Note: Well how about that?! Now that I've gotten you all good and attached to Draco, it's time to switch back over to Oliver. Grumble all you like. It's happening. lol.


	6. Disastrous

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon for their beta on this chapter. I've noticed my chapters for this story are a bit longer than my usual. I'm not sure why that is, but I hope you all enjoy the phenomenon.

Chapter 6 Disastrous

Harry felt discouraged as he tried and failed several times to make his hair behave. It stuck up in all sorts of directions and made him frown in disgust at the mirror. His thoughts drifted to Malfoy as he hit the black mop with a few consecutive spells, noting with a smile that even the well-groomed blond had been unsuccessful at taming Harry's wild mane. He shook the thought away and sighed, turning and leaving his mission behind. It was useless to try and do anything about his hair, the ebony locks would simply do what they wanted in the end regardless of how much effort Harry put into it. If he were going to date Oliver, the man would just have to deal with his unkemptness.

He was dressed simply in a pair of dark denims and a sky blue jumper. Matching trainers completed the ensemble and he deemed himself ready. The thought hadn't occurred to him that it might take a pass or something to get onto the Pitch until he Apparated just outside the massive stadium and saw three hulking security guards blocking his entrance. He should have remembered from his many visits at Ron's pitch that he may run into something like this and probably should have asked Oliver about the protocol long before now.

He strode purposefully over to them, noting their bored stares and hoped it would be easy enough to get inside. All three men were bulky. One was leaning to the right of the entrance slurping on a red slush drink, one was bald – in a purposeful way, not the kind that comes with age - and generally ominous looking and glaring at Harry as he approached. The third was half-asleep with a dirty magazine hanging limply in his giant hand. It was hard for Harry to decide which one he wanted to talk to, because if he were honest, he'd would've like to bypass all three of them without having to utter a word, but he figured the one making eye contact – even if that eye contact was surly – would be the best choice.

"Excuse me, I'm here to see Oliver Wood," Harry began, hoping his date had put him on some sort of list or something.

"Training isn't over yet," baldy grunted. "You'll have to wait."

"Oh," Harry muttered stiltedly, not sure how best to proceed. "Well, maybe you could let him know I'm here?" he pressed, trying to be reasonable.

"He'll be out when they're done." The tone was rather final and Harry narrowed his eyes.

"I was told to meet him here," Harry explained. "I think he'll be a little miffed if you don't let me in."

The other two guards stirred awake at Harry's raised voice and went to flank either side of the bald man forming an impenetrable wall of bulk. Slush and Dirty Magazine both looked put out that Harry had interrupted their exciting pastime of staring off into space. "Do I look like I care? You can wait outside like the rest of the groupies." If that wasn't enough of an insult, the man muttered "Fag" under his breath and sent Harry reeling to a place he rarely went.

"Do you know who I am?" Harry asked, his voice elevating in anger at being treated so poorly. He didn't often use this tactic, because he didn't often need to. Most everyone knew him by sight and those who didn't simply needed a reminder of the name.

"Yeah," the bald man scoffed. "So what? You think just because you killed some tyrant like ten years ago that you should be exempt from the rules?"

"No!" Harry replied right away, thoroughly affronted. "But I think it means I deserve some respect."

"Well that makes one of us." Baldy narrowed his eyes as if challenging Harry to push him further.

Harry was so angry he almost gave up altogether and went home, and perhaps he should have, because what he chose to do instead was rather foolish. He pulled his wand from the holster on his belt, but didn't even get a chance to aim it before he found himself covered in red slush and looked up to find three wands pointed back at him.

"Harry?" called a voice from further down the walkway. Oliver came bounding over, his gold and navy robes billowing out behind him. "What in Merlin's name is going on here?"

Harry took a moment to look completely embarrassed as he imagined how silly the scene before Oliver must seem, Harry standing there coated in melting red slush and facing off with three brutish guards must have looked rather ridiculous.

"This bloke tried to Hex us for not letting him onto the pitch," the bald one told him.

"I did no such thing," Harry protested. He was only going to cast a Reasoning Charm on the men to make them more pliable to his will. It was a completely harmless spell and would have worn off a few minutes after he cast it.

"It might be more convincing if you put your wand away, Harry," Oliver said and Harry's cheeks flushed crimson, but Wood didn't look angry. He seemed more amused than anything. "He's with me, Boys," he told the guards and cast a surreptitious cleaning Charm on Harry's clothes as he shook his head in mock dismay. "You sure do know how to make an entrance, Harry," he teased.

Harry blushed as Oliver led him away from the main gate and toward another set of doors, ushering the man through and into the Puddlemere United's brightly lit locker room. "They are pretty protective of the team," Oliver told him, nodding in the direction they'd just come from. "Nice blokes usually…dim, but nice."

"I guess you probably get a lot of crazy fans coming by, eh?" Harry asked, following his date through the locker room and out onto the pitch. He remembered Ron telling him about some crazed Cannons' fan who had streaked through their pitch one afternoon during their practice and then tried to sneak in on them in the showers. Harry shuddered at the thought of some batty person attacking Oliver while the poor man was at work.

"Sometimes," Oliver agreed, "but usually only when we're on tour. Our pitch is warded pretty well against intruders," he explained, making Harry feel somewhat better. "So, this is it," he announced grandly as he gestured to the massive field.

The grass below their feet was a lemony gold with a giant blue shield in the center of the pitch. Gold bulrushes crisscrossed its surface and the same shields were mirrored everywhere – the bleachers, the snack bins and even the goalposts. Oliver looked proud, his dark brown eyes taking on a soft gleam as they scanned his beloved pitch.

"It's impressive," Harry said and he meant it, but he was more taken with Oliver's glow than with the pitch itself. It was regulation after all, and aside from being nicer to look at than the garish orange of the Cannons' field, it was the same as any other pitch Harry had set eyes on.

"Isn't it?" he replied reverently. "Care to have a quick fly around?"

"Oh," Harry replied dumbly. "I didn't bring my broom." He felt foolish for leaving it behind, they were meeting at a pitch after all, of course Oliver would want to fly.

"No worries," Oliver replied, pulling his eyes away from the pitch and casting that adoring gaze at Harry instead. "You can use mine and I'll borrow one of my teammate's."

Within minutes both men were in the air, swooping and diving through the air with abandon. Harry hadn't been on a broom in months and relished the feeling of the breeze whipping through his hair and sending him higher and higher. The pitch filled with laughter as they flew circles around one another and Harry grinned brightly at the child-like bliss that emanated from Wood's entire body as they soared through the air. Oliver was at home here in the air, probably more than he was on the ground.

"That was brilliant, Harry," the man called as they descended. "I'd nearly forgotten what a fantastic flyer you are. You've only gotten better with practice I see."

"Me? I'm not the famous Puddlemere Keeper, now am I?" Harry teased as they put their brooms away and strode, winded, back to the locker room.

"I'd get our Seeker sacked in an instant if I could convince you to come on board." It was clear Oliver was both joking and not, his eyes set in a manic gleam, clearly hoping Harry might bite on the teasing offer. Harry, however, recalled what it was like to play Quidditch under Wood's regime and simply laughed the suggestion off. He wanted to date the man and he didn't think a relationship would last long under Oliver's strict training tactics.

"I think I'm better suited to catching bad guys," he replied reasonably and Oliver dropped it, smiling somewhat falsely in return. "Besides, we wouldn't have much to talk about on our dates if we worked together."

Wood's eyes lit up at the remark and he wound his arm around Harry's waist as they walked, filling the brunet with simmering heat. "That's very true. So, what do you normally talk about on a second date?"

"What's your favorite color?" Harry asked, smiling at Oliver's chuckle.

"Red. Yours?"

"Hm…I don't know if I have a favorite. Blue, maybe?" he replied.

"Ravenclaw at heart?" Oliver teased.

"Are you saying I'm not clever enough to be in Ravenclaw?" Harry managed an affronted look but just barely before making his smile match Oliver's once more. He was already intensely attracted to the man, feeling only mildly nervous in his presence, which was a feat within itself for Harry, who usually stammered his way through the first few dates.

"No, I just think your favorite color should be green," Oliver replied, stopping them by the pitch's exit and pressing Harry into the wall, a hand on either side of his face.

Harry's breathing quickened along with his pulse and he looked up into Oliver's dark gaze and whispered, "Why?"

"Because your eyes are the most stunning shade of green I've ever seen," he whispered before leaning in to capture Harry's lips. Harry, however, quickly dodged the approaching mouth by turning his face, smiling to himself when Oliver's warm lips pressed into his cheek instead.

"Harry?" Oliver asked after pulling back and seeing the rich blush on his date's cheek. "What's wrong?"

His calm demeanor was suddenly shattered and he felt like he was back in Fourth Year trying to round up the Gryffindor courage to ask someone to the Yule Ball. Harry bit into his bottom lip furiously, wishing he had just accepted the kiss as he was meant to. He'd just got the feeling that it was all moving too quickly, that if he and Oliver progressed too fast that their relationship would fizzle out before it had a chance to take off. But he didn't fancy explaining that to the smoldering Keeper still staring at him like he was a limited edition broomstick model. "I'd just like to get to know you better before we…er…go too far," he replied meekly.

Confusion flickered through Oliver's eyes, followed quickly by delight as he chuckled and shifted away from Harry, laying his hand fondly on the man's shoulder instead of pinning him to the wall. "Well, aren't you just the sweet gentleman?" Oliver replied playfully, making Harry blush even deeper. "No worries, Mate. I'm in no hurry. We can take things as slow as you like," he replied, his dark eyes full of sincerity. "So long as you know that I really want to kiss you and I'll be ready and willing when you are," he added with a wink.

"Noted," Harry chuckled and leaned up, pressing a chaste kiss on the man's cheek, "and thanks. Some people have been a prat about that sort of thing."

"I couldn't be a prat to you, Harry," Oliver assured and opened the door to walk Harry out. "I'd invite you out for drinks, but I have an early training session tomorrow morning. It was really great seeing you tonight though." He squeezed Harry's shoulder slightly, affection clouding over those dark eyes as he stared at him. Harry wasn't ready to go just yet, but he wasn't about to beg for Oliver's company.

"The pleasure was mine," Harry replied and bowed slightly, smirking up at the man as he grinned from Harry's posturing. "Do you think you'll be able to make it to the party tomorrow night?"

"It depends on how sore I am after practice, but I'll try. Who's hosting it this week?" he asked. Harry and his friends always rotated the duties, and Harry figured it was Hermione and Neville's turn this week. He told Oliver so and gave the man one last lingering glance before Apparating back home.

His heart swelled as he thought of the man he'd just left, every Quidditch toned inch of him. He regretted not allowing the man to kiss him, he'd practically grown up with Oliver after all, but something had moved him away and Harry tried not to regret following his instincts. They had served him well enough in the past. He reasoned that it just wasn't the right time for their first kiss yet, and as hopelessly romantic as he knew it sounded, he felt that kiss had to be special.

He grabbed a butterbeer from the icebox and sat down at the table, noticing the pile of mail he'd left discarded that morning. He'd been too busy and distracted to even glance at the Quibbler that day, and pulled it in front of him now, flipping immediately to the Quidditch section so that he might find something to chat about with Oliver at the party the next evening. There in bold print was a shot of Oliver's team and Harry sighed, smiling down at the fiercely determined face of his new boyfriend, Oliver Wood. He read the article and his pulse began to quicken, but not in a good way as it had earlier that evening from being wrapped in Oliver's arms.

He didn't know why he hadn't pieced it together before now; he knew the game schedule and followed the sport closely enough to have anticipated this. But the article served to remind him of a fact he'd overlooked. In less than a month's time, Oliver would be out of town quite often, and for weeks at a time at that. Worry settled over him as he wondered if their relationship, as new and tenuous as it was, would last if they were separated for so long at such an early stage? Looking down at the paper, he saw images of other players, all bombarded with fans grabbing and pawing at them and Harry remembered how rocky Ron and Luna were in the very beginning with Ron being on tour for so much of the year. They'd long since settled into a routine with it, but that first season was rough on both of them, and they had the help of Professor Amore. Malfoy, he reminded himself with a sigh.

What if Oliver got tired of Harry's reluctance to bed him and went along with one of these groupies? The pull would surely be great, and if Oliver took a liking to one of the blokes, what would stop him from taking the man back to his hotel room, especially if he and Harry weren't serious yet? Panic laced through Harry's entire being as he imagined that very thing happening, and the Owl from Oliver telling him they were through.

Or what if Harry succumbed to his worry and slept with Oliver before the man left? Would Oliver lose respect for him? Would the relationship fizzle out as Harry had predicted? Harry felt suddenly lost and didn't know what to do. Then, as if a sign from Merlin himself, a gust of wind blew through his flat - though he had no idea from where - and it ruffled his paper and flipped it several pages back, landing on the advice column.

Staring down at the name 'Professor Amore' in delicate script, Harry knew what he had to do to salvage his relationship with Oliver.

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Draco had never felt so tangled in all his life. It seemed like someone had put him on a merry-go-round and refused to let him off. He was dizzy with the effort to keep himself in control, but he'd made his decision. He wasn't going to mess with any dark magic, and the spells had already been cast to show Potter and Wood as gold matches. Whatever it said about he and Potter afterward would have to go unheeded.

Besides, Harry would be perfectly happy with Oliver, and since he wouldn't require Draco's assistance in his courtship of the Quidditch player, Draco could easily forget that Harry Potter even existed. That way everyone would be happy. Oliver would get Harry and vice versa and Draco would be spared the horrid fate that would surely befall him if he were to tamper with the bonding magic he'd evoked. Easy. No regrets. Not a one. Potter was probably too high maintenance anyhow.

He'd never gotten a pure bond before, and that alone made him leery. Even after casting the spell several times the evening before, Draco couldn't believe the results. True soul mates were far too rare, and if he were Harry's soul mate, then why would it have deemed Oliver his golden match? It just didn't make sense…unless it was a test, which was what in the end Draco decided it had to be. Some higher power was testing his professionalism and control. He used the dark magic so much in his career choice that it was a wonder the gods hadn't tested him before this. He always remembered his mother's warnings about repeated use of the ancient magicks, but Draco hadn't put much stock in her caution until now.

So he would leave Potter alone - maybe even move away - and show the gods that he had the power to uphold the rules of the spells he used. But then the gods sent him a new temptation.

He jumped and nearly yelped as he heard someone knock on his door. It took all of his self-control to reason out that the gods didn't knock. If they wanted to take Draco away, they'd have better methods of doing so. He walked carefully over and opened it, groaning inwardly to see Potter standing on his doorstep. "What?" he snapped. He knew his voice was harsh and he almost apologized, but then he remembered how bitterly they had ended their last conversation and suddenly felt justified in his sour tone.

"I want to take your classes," Harry told him firmly.

"No," Draco replied and moved to shut the door. Only Harry's well-placed foot in the doorjamb kept the door from slamming in the brunet's face. "Sod off, Potter."

"You were practically begging me to take the classes before. What's changed?" Harry asked through the crack, leveling his weight against the door to keep it from closing.

"The window of acceptance has expired. I've moved on to another couple. Too busy for you now," he lied, feeling immediately terrible for it. He didn't know why though. He'd lied to Harry plenty of times before with a clean conscience, but he'd never lied to his soul mate before…

The sappy thought had him making a wordless noise that sounded broken and guttural and he must have relaxed his grip too much in his distraction because the door flew inward while Harry leapt inside the foyer with his wand drawn as he cast a quick glance around the room. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice fierce as he looked for the invisible perpetrator who had cause Draco to make such an anguished noise.

"I'm fine," Draco spat; clutching his bruised ego and wrapping it around himself like a comforting blanket. He could do this. He could talk to Harry and not think of him as anything more than an infuriating Gryffindor. "I would just prefer if you left. I'm not able to offer you the lessons any longer."

"Why not?" Harry demanded.

"Call it a conflict of interest," Draco replied, his heart heavy even as he said the words.

"One of your other clients wants Oliver?" Harry asked, his eyes widening with fear. The brunet was already falling for Wood. That much was clear by his stance and his obvious jealousy at the unconfirmed thought of Wood having another suitor.

"I'm not at liberty to discuss my client's preferences or activities," he responded, saying what he could to keep himself from lying again.

"Please, Draco," he begged. "I need your help. I'll double your fee. I just want to make sure I'm doing the right thing as this relationship progresses. I don't want to lose him." The man was so sincere and full of longing that it broke Draco's heart to hear it, especially when directed at another man. He didn't know if it was Potter's pleading tone or the way his given name sounded on Harry's lips, but something deep inside his mind cracked and spewed forth words that Draco felt sure he would regret some day soon.

"Okay," he whispered. "I'll do it. For double," he added quickly so as not to seem too soft.

Harry leapt forward and pulled Draco into a spontaneous hug, mashing their bodies together in perfectly fitting harmony. "Thanks, Draco. I mean it. Anything, and I mean _anything_ I can do for you, just name it and it's yours."

'_You, Harry, I want you,'_ Draco thought silently but melted into the man's arms nonetheless, trying not to think about how difficult it was going to be to tear himself away from it. "Speak nothing of it. We'll start Saturday, how is that?"

"Great," Harry exclaimed, pulling away only slightly. "Perfect," he amended, staring up into Draco's piercing gaze. It seemed so much softer than usual, more like a warm, gray cashmere sweater and less like the iced over lake Harry usually compared it to.

"Potter?" Draco whispered, his breath ghosting across Harry's lips.

"Hmm?" He was still twined around the blond and felt himself rather distracted by the new sensations coursing through him, coating his lips in Malfoy's innate flavor.

"You do realize that Slytherins don't hug, right?" he asked mildly and Harry shook off his daze as he slowly extricated himself from the blond's lithe form. Draco sighed with a mixture of relief and loss, but his nerves had been tested long enough for one night. They weren't made of steel, after all, and Potter's warm embrace had felt too good to resist for much longer.

"I'll see you Saturday," Harry whispered before leaving Draco's home rather abruptly.

And with that, the largest challenge of Draco's power and faith was to ensue. He would show strength and discipline against his yearnings. He would show the gods what he was made of and prove himself worthy to wield their magic…right after he took a long, cold shower.

Author's Note: Bum Bum Bum. Poor Draco. Blind Harry. I feel worst for Oliver though. Poor bloke doesn't stand a chance. Or does he?!


	7. Unbreakable

Author's Note: First thanks go to Kasey, TutelaTwin and Shannon for their beta work, and the rest of my thanks go to the readers who inspire me to write more with their lovely reviews. If you happen to be on Twitter or LJ, you can find me there too under the name of Digitallace or as on Facebook. And then of course there is my yahoo group. Let's face it folks, I'm all over the fucking internet. There is no getting rid of me...

Chapter 7 Unbreakable

Deep green robes billowed softly around him as Harry balanced from the distant Apparition to Hogsmeade. He stood passively on the stoop to Hermione and Neville's garden cottage and raised his hand to knock, only to have the door swing open before he even had the chance.

"Oh," a soft gasp issued from Malfoy's mouth as he took note of Harry standing there in the doorway looking surprised. "Sorry. I was just leaving. I didn't know you were standing out here."

"Leaving?" Harry asked, disregarding the unnecessary apology. "But why?"

"I hadn't even planned to be here this long, I only came by to drop off a bottle of wine to Hermione but she and Ginny saw fit to detain me," he explained. "I'm afraid I'm behind schedule on some things and can't afford to be away from my desk for too long."

"I see," Harry whispered, staring up into Draco's eyes through his own narrowed ones. "You're lying to me."

"Am not," Draco replied more petulantly than he'd intended.

"You are so. Your eyes betray you, Malfoy," he countered. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes away from those glistening pools of gray. It was just like it had been at Malfoy's flat the night before. Those haunting eyes bored through him and straight into his soul.

"I'm far too busy for this, Potter. It matters very little to me whether you believe me or not," he huffed and shifted past Harry onto the gravel path. Harry's only reply was to fold his arms over his chest while pouting ever so slightly. "You look nice tonight, by the way," Draco added before tilting his head in farewell and Apparating away, leaving Harry to stare out into the empty night sky after him.

Harry wondered why his heart gave a violent pang at the man's departure and reasoned that it was nothing, probably just indigestion.

As he turned away from the spot where Malfoy had just popped away, he ventured inside and was immediately met with a barrage of light and chatter. Hermione and Ginny hovered near the kitchen, gossiping animatedly while their husbands played a game of chess with Ron watching on, waiting to challenge the winner. Luna emerged from the kitchen as Harry hung his robes on the stand by the door. She was carrying a tray laden with her latest concoction, a brownish tart that Harry wasn't terribly keen on trying. It wasn't that Luna was a horrible cook; it was just that her imagination and palate were clearly far more sophisticated than anyone else's. At least that's what they all would tell her after discreetly spitting the bite out into a napkin.

Harry was immediately summoned over to the hovering women by Ginny's beckoning hand. He'd expected to be grilled about his date with Oliver, but he wasn't looking forward to it. "The date went well enough and we plan to see one another soon," Harry prefaced without even a greeting, figuring the chatty women would prefer to get straight to the point.

"I hear you accepted the classes with Draco," Ginny said, clearly caring very little about Harry's progress with Oliver, falling back on her odd obsession with Malfoy instead.

"What is it with you and Malfoy?" Harry asked somewhat bitterly. "Should Clive be worried? Do you have a thing for him?"

Ginny giggled and glanced pointedly to Hermione who nodded and smiled knowingly in return. Their silent conversations were beginning to wear on Harry's nerves. "I think the real question is, what is with _you_ and Malfoy? Do _you_ have a thing for him?"

"I'm dating Oliver," Harry replied.

"Did you notice how carefully he sidestepped my question, Mi?" Ginny asked, directing the question to her friend as if Harry wasn't even there.

"I did," Hermione replied. "Very curious. I wonder what that means?"

"I think it means he's trying to lust after our blond friend in secret, but secrets won't do in this group, Harry," she chastised and Harry fought desperately not to roll his eyes.

"I'm not lusting after anyone in secret. I'm lusting for Oliver in the open and he's the only one I have lusty feelings for," Harry replied in clipped tones. "Okay?"

"We'll see," Ginny replied with a wink and patted Harry on the shoulder before gliding over to sit on her husband's lap, effectively distracting him from their game.

"She's got a screw loose," Harry muttered and Hermione grinned.

"She's just commenting on what we all see, Harry. It's rather obvious that something is going on between you and Draco. I think you're just too afraid to acknowledge it," she replied, sipping at her cocktail.

"What do I have to be afraid of?" he balked. The whole lot of them needed therapy.

"I think that's what you need to figure out, Harry," she replied before she too drifted off to linger behind her husband, leaving Harry to stare exasperatedly at the empty kitchen.

"Care for an apple bacon tart, Harry?" Luna chimed behind him, causing him to whirl around to face her.

"Er, apple bacon?" he repeated curiously and she nodded. He took one and bit into it tentatively, trying not to actually touch it with his tongue. He made a move to turn so that he could dispose of it without her seeing, but then realized the salty-sweet flavor lingering in his mouth was quite tasty. "Oh," he gasped, chewing it more gingerly before swallowing it down. "That's actually good. Who would have thought?"

"I did, of course," she quipped, settling in beside Harry.

They shared a moment of silence together before Harry sighed. "Are you going to tell me that I should be dating Malfoy too?"

"I thought you were dating Oliver Wood," she replied, looking confused.

"I am."

"So, then why would I mention Draco? I don't condone cheating, Harry," she told him firmly. Her directness made him relax and he shook his head.

"I don't either, but Hermione and Ginny seem convinced that I should be dating Malfoy _instead_ of Oliver," Harry explained.

"Draco's a lovely man, but I like Oliver. I think he's well suited for you. But it doesn't really matter what any of us think. What do _you_ think, Harry?" she asked wisely.

"I like Oliver." It seemed fairly obvious to Harry that Draco was merely toying with him, so why wasn't that obvious to anyone else? Ginny's attraction to him was understandable he supposed, she harbored no ill will to Slytherin's since long before her own marriage to one, but Harry would have hoped at least Hermione would see logic.

"Well, I would ignore what everyone else has to say on the matter then," she mused and handed Harry another tart before wandering over to offer some to the other guests. Harry was glad that at least one of his friends was sane when it came to this whole Malfoy-Oliver situation, even if it was the one who occasionally spouted off about Wrackspurts.

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Oliver never showed up at the party the night before and Harry found a deeply apologetic letter waiting for him when he returned home. Apparently training had run late, as some of the team members weren't playing up to par and Wood kept them there until the wee hours of the morning. Harry remembered all too well the plight of a teammate under the captainship of Oliver Wood and shuddered in sympathy for poor Puddlemere United.

Harry fell asleep to the thought, and wondered when he would get to see Oliver again. Because of the man's heavy training schedule, it seemed that much more prudent that he carry on with his lessons from Malfoy, who he was to meet with the very next afternoon. Harry didn't know what was up with the blond, or why Draco had chosen to focus all of his teasing flirtations on him now, but he didn't like that it was garnering the attention of his friends, and worse, that his friends thought Malfoy's flirtations to be honest. Couldn't they see the smirk behind every word? It was just like the sausage incident, which was admittedly funny, but was also a perfect example of the kind of games Malfoy played. He might not turn Harry away if he were to proposition the blond for a one-night stand, but Malfoy was hardly the type to devote more of his time or energy than that. Harry couldn't think of the last true relationship Malfoy had, and that had to mean something.

He didn't know why he was so worried about it though. As long as Malfoy could do for him what he'd done for so many of his friends, Harry had no gripes with the man.

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Draco paced the expanse of his living room, and cursed himself for doing so even as his feet struck the carpet. It was a sign of weakness to allow himself so much anxiety over such a small thing. It was only Potter after all. What harm could possibly come from giving the man a few pointers on dating?

He shuddered at the thought of what terrible things might befall him if he interfered with the Golden Match between Potter and Wood. Last night he'd barely been able to tear his eyes away from the brunet. Those green robes were so well tailored and brought out the luminescence of Potter's eyes and it took everything in Draco's arsenal to make himself leave the party. He couldn't have stayed another moment, not with Harry looking the way he did, and still keep his promise to the gods. By Salazar, Potter would have been his by the night's end whether he wanted it or not, and then Draco would be stuck in some hell dimension for wizard's who misused the dark spells. That was all he needed.

Just knowing Potter was on his way right then placed him in his own mental hell; he didn't need the added effect of tangible flames licking at his naked flesh to accompany it, thank you very much.

It was shortly after noon, their allotted meeting time, and Harry remained a no show. Draco grew hopeful that the raven-haired man had changed his mind again, or perhaps he just grabbed Oliver up and eloped, saving Draco the trouble. Alas, just as his body began to relax and his pacing slowed, there was a knock on the door.

"Perhaps I should conjure you a dictionary so that you can look up the definition of punctuality?" he lectured upon yanking the door open. Potter stared up at him balefully and muttered some incongruent apology, but Malfoy shook it off and opened the door wider to allow Harry to enter.

The brunet strode inside, apparently recalling the way to the living room, and Draco followed, his eyes staring carefully at the back of Potter's head to keep them from lingering down to the man's arse. _"He belongs to Wood,"_ Draco reminded himself silently as he made his way to the bar and poured himself a stout drink. He raised an empty glass in Potter's direction but Harry shook his head. "Do you always drink so early?" he asked with an upturned nose.

"Not usually, no, but I have a feeling I'm going to need it today," Draco answered curtly.

"Do you really hate me so much?" Harry asked suddenly, looking mildly offended even though Draco hadn't answered him yet.

"Sometimes you are extraordinarily dim, Potter," he snapped. Of course he didn't hate him, wasn't that obvious to the Gryffindor twat?

Harry bristled, but moved beyond the insult. "Still, that hardly seems reason enough for your seething hostility toward me over the last few days."

Draco took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. This infuriating Gryffindor was supposed to be his soul mate? Draco thought he'd made up for his youthful transgressions a long time ago, but apparently Merlin had a vicious sense of humor, sidling him with Harry Potter as a life long punishment. Perhaps it was lucky for Draco that Potter didn't want him.

"Shall we get on with the lessons?" Malfoy tried, "Seeing as though you're already more than half an hour late?"

"How am I supposed to trust you if you hate me so much? How are we supposed to do this?" he asked, standing up from the armchair he'd taken. "Maybe this was a mistake."

"Would you sit down, Potter, and stop acting like a child. Sometimes you just have to work with people who don't like you. It's life, get over it," Malfoy spat. "Not everyone is head over heels infatuated with the Gryffindor Golden Boy."

Harry blanched at the title. It had been a long time since he'd seen it in print and even longer since he'd heard it aloud. It rattled something loose inside of him and he glared down his rival menacingly. "No, actually. I don't have to work with people who don't like me. In fact, part of the beauty of being the _Gryffindor Golden Boy_, as you so put it, is being able to do pretty much anything I want," he spat.

That wasn't true at all, Harry was just like any other bloke, but apparently Malfoy didn't think so, so why not fuel the twisted image Malfoy had of him in his head? It wasn't as if he cared what Malfoy thought anyway. He started to march out when he felt Draco's arm circle around his waist, pulling him back and effectively against his own chest.

"I don't hate you," he whispered, staring intently into those angry green eyes. _"I don't hate you,"_ he repeated with more clarity and emotion than Harry had ever seen from the man so far. When Draco let go and stepped away, Harry felt a rush of vertigo, as if he suddenly couldn't stand without Draco bracing him. "Things between us are just complicated," he explained when it appeared Harry wasn't going to rush out. "They always have been, and they always will be."

"They don't have to be," Harry rasped, getting his bearings as he stumbled over to the armchair he'd been previously occupying. Suddenly it seemed he was the one who had consumed Malfoy's drink, along with another three or four to chase it down.

"I'll try not to lose my temper again," Draco promised noncommittally. He knew just how complicated things were between he and Harry, but he had no intention of sharing his knowledge with the brunet. He was risking enough already.

Harry nodded and sighed. "I'll do my best to be on time."

"Thanks," Draco replied, trying not to roll his eyes. That wasn't at all what he was upset about, but damned if he was going to look like a tosser by shedding light on his own personal shame. It mattered very little though, because Draco was a professional, and he had a job to do, even if it was a distasteful situation. Clearly Potter was hapless in the love department and needed as much help as he could get and, as the best matchmaker in England, if not the world, it was Draco's responsibility to offer his expertise.

They sat there looking awkwardly at one another for a moment, Draco's drink completely forgotten. "So," Harry began tentatively. "What's first?"

"The Unbreakable Vow," Draco explained, shaking himself out of his Harry inspired stupor. "Though to be honest, I'm hoping I might be able to use your success with Wood as a bolster for my business," he admitted reluctantly. "Would you think about letting me do that, given the lessons are successful, which I have no doubt they will be? It would be a big help to my career."

Harry had a rebuttal on the tip of his tongue about how he was paying Malfoy double and counted on their sessions being kept in strict confidence just like his friends when the man fell into a flurry of stammering cuteness that Harry found nearly impossible to resist. Nearly.

"What would that mean for me, though? You'd release my information to the public?" he asked warily.

"Your name only," Draco replied hurriedly. "A celebrity match like you and Wood would make headlines for months. It would allow me to stop hiding behind Professor Amore if they knew I was the one behind the marriage."

Harry wanted to decline and take the Vow as his friends had done before him but aside from his own desire for anonymity, he couldn't think of a valid reason why Malfoy shouldn't benefit from his hard work once it paid off. It's not as if the media was going to leave him alone regardless. A marriage between him and Oliver would be front-page news as Malfoy said, and there would be nothing Harry could do to avoid that. "I suppose it would be alright, so long as no details we discuss are released to the press."

"Just think about it-" he began and then Harry's words registered and he gaped slightly. He'd been expecting an argument, perhaps an all out war with his suggestion. This calm acceptance wasn't at all what he'd imagined. "Did you just agree?"

Harry laughed and nodded, holding out his hand. "So, let's get this Vow over with so we can move on."

"Since it's a mutual Vow we don't need a bonder. Wand out, Potter," he instructed, grasping Harry's hand firmly, his fingers twining at the wrist. An electric shock zapped through him with a force that nearly had him toppling backward. Harry's eyes went wide and Draco had to concentrate on regulating his breathing before he spoke again. "It's just the spell," he assured the brunet, knowing full well that only a fraction of the pull they felt toward one another had to do with the Unbreakable Vow.

"But we haven't said anything yet," he whispered, as if speaking through mottled cloth.

"The magic can sense our intent," he replied, which was partially true anyway. For a fleeting moment Draco felt mad. With their hands joined this way, and with Potter so willing and pliable across from him, Draco could just cast a bonding spell instead, binding he and Harry together forever, damn the consequences. But logic and reason set in soon enough when a vase at the other end of the room broke with a deafening crack, reminding Draco of his responsibility and the strength of the magic he evoked daily. _"Harry belongs to Oliver,"_ Draco repeated internally for the hundredth time as he raised his wand over their joined hands.

White flames licked harmlessly along Draco's skin, symbols of the actual flames that would claim them if one of the pair was to break the vow. "Harry Potter, will you accept my council in the matters of your relationship with Oliver Wood."

"I will," Harry replied firmly, his eyes locked on Draco's molten gaze.

"And will you promise to keep my identity secret until such a time as I am ready to reveal it?" he asked and Harry nodded.

"I will."

"And will you make these promises under pain of death if you were to break them?" he asked, finality in his tone and the flames grew so bright that neither man could look at them directly if they tried.

"I will," Harry promised and the white fire flared up as it seeped into his hand and made his entire body glow with the force of it for a moment before disappearing completely.

Harry's eyes snapped shut and his teeth anchored into his bottom lip roughly. When those eyes finally fluttered back open, they were such an intense green that Draco nearly lost himself in their brilliance. "Wow," Harry rasped clasping Draco's hand more firmly within his own. "That's powerful magic."

"Some of the most powerful there is," Draco agreed. "Are you ready with my vow?"

Harry nodded and leveled his wand, barely touching their joined hands as Draco had done and again the white flames emerged. The first time he had done this, Draco expected the flames to sear him, but they were cool and soft like a spring breeze against his skin. He was getting aroused just watching Harry with his lips parted, the faint flush on his cheeks from his turn at the Vow, and then their gazes locked and Harry caught his breath.

"Will you promise to instruct me to the fullest extent of your capabilities during my courtship of Oliver Wood?" he asked at last, steeling himself.

"I will," Draco breathed reluctantly.

"And will you promise to keep all of my personal details a secret when you reveal my name to the public?" he pressed.

"I will," he replied more firmly.

"And will you make these promises under pain of death if you were to break them?" Harry asked, cringing even as he said the words.

"I will," Draco replied and felt the telltale tug of magic flow through him, binding his soul to his promise, binding his soul to Harry, but he supposed that didn't matter much since he and Harry had twin souls to begin with.

He shuddered as the last of the magic left him with only Harry's cool palm resting against his own. He knew he should be thankful the spell took, thankful the gods had accepted their promises and twined them together, but instead Draco felt bereft of his choices and he knew then that part of him had still been entertaining the idea of sabotaging Harry's relationship with Wood. That wasn't possible anymore. He had not one, but _two_ very powerful and deadly magicks levied against him now. He would help Potter woo and capture Oliver Wood, he would have to, or else his own life would be forfeit.

Author's Note: Well, Draco's in quite a pickle now, isn't he?


	8. Dancing

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon, who both looked this chapter over for me.

Chapter 8 Dancing

"I wish you'd come to me sooner, really," Draco remarked as he sidled up next to Harry in the lounge. "There is so much to do in preparation of the first date, and now you and Wood have already had _two_ dates without my expert guidance."

"I think I can manage some things on my own," Harry bit back, rolling his eyes. "I'm not completely inept, you know?"

"Well, you are still single," Draco pointed out with a delicate blond eyebrow lifted in challenge.

"So are you," Harry countered bitterly and Draco merely shrugged.

"Love is not in the cards for me, Potter. I suspected as much a while ago and had it very recently confirmed." He wanted to shoot himself for muttering the last bit, and sure enough, Harry latched onto it like a puppy with a new chew toy.

"How was that confirmed?" he asked, bright green eyes blinking across at him curiously. They'd been at Draco's house for nearly two hours already and had filled that time with their ongoing banter. Harry wanted to be annoyed at being billed for a lesson he wasn't receiving, but he couldn't muster up the energy to complain. Truth of it was, Malfoy was proving to be excellent company. Harry was learning much about the elusive Slytherin and was thoroughly enjoying himself.

"I recently lost my soul mate," Draco told him honestly.

"Death?" Harry asked, those green eyes widening to round saucers.

Draco made to shake his head, but figured that would only lead to more questions, and in a way, Harry was spot on with the assumption. Potter, as far as a romantic relationship went, was dead to him. "Yes. Terrible tragedy, I'd rather not talk about it if that's alright?" he replied, grazing over the subject as Harry nodded muttered his apologies while glancing at him sympathetically. "Now, back to the subject at hand. I witnessed your first date with Wood. You two seemed to hit it off, but tell me about the second date."

"I met him at the Puddlemere pitch," Harry explained, his eyes still sparkling with mild pity as he directed his gaze toward the blond. "I had a bit of trouble with the guards and Olli came to my rescue."

"How quaint. The hero has his own knight in shining armor," Draco muttered, barely able to keep the bile from rising in his throat.

Harry looked plaintively at Draco and pursed his lips. "It's not as though I'm some damsel in distress, but it's nice not to have to be the one to don the spandex and cape every now and again."

"Pardon?" Draco balked, not understanding what Harry was referring to. "He was wearing spandex?"

Harry chuckled under his breath and shook his head in mock dismay. "Sorry. I keep forgetting you know nothing about Muggle culture. I bet you've never even seen a comic book."

"You say that as if it makes me less of a person," Draco snapped.

"Not less, no. Just different," Harry placated, spreading his hands out in front of him in a yielding gesture, calling for a truce. Draco grumbled, but nodded, waving for Harry to proceed with his story with a rushed movement of his hand. "He gave me a tour of the pitch and then we went flying. As I was leaving, he tried to kiss me."

Everything in Draco's body tensed at the admission and he waited for Harry to go on, but he didn't. Oh, this was no good. Would this burning pit open up in his gut every time Harry mentioned something like this? Would the green eyes of jealousy stare back at him through Potter's own emerald gaze? How could he possibly coax Harry toward the end goal of marrying Wood when even the mention of a kiss drove Draco mad with envy?

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, counting to ten as he did. He could do this. He could pass the gods' test. He could best them all and prove himself worthy of their mighty gift. Perhaps in the end, once he had sufficiently proven his ability to wield the magic they had bestowed upon him, they might see fit to provide him with a match after all - someone decidedly not Harry Potter, whose only real talent was to infuriate him endlessly.

"And did you allow it?" he asked at last, proud that his voice didn't betray any of the sharpness he felt.

"No," Harry murmured. "I can't really explain why. I just felt like it wasn't good timing."

"Well, you're right about that. The first kiss is well down the list in our program," Draco huffed to cover up his audible sigh of relief.

"What are the steps?" he asked, leaning in with sudden interest.

Draco shot him a smug pursing of the lips and shook his head. "I'm not telling you because then you'll try to jump ahead of the lessons."

"I would not," Harry lied, and it was clear he was lying because he couldn't wipe the grin from his face. Draco merely narrowed his eyes and didn't bother to call him on it since they both knew the truth.

"As for the first step, you've sort of skipped ahead of it. You two obviously have the chemistry needed for a short term relationship, and based on my assessments, you have the qualities to make a lasting marriage should you both choose that route," he explained.

"Why wouldn't we choose that?" Harry asked, looking adorably confused.

"Occasionally, people make it partway through the program and decide that they aren't ready, or that this match might not be the one they want. Sometimes, people have multiple golden matches and one suits them better than another. You and Oliver still have a long way to go before the nuptials."

"I doubt I'll find out anything about Oliver I don't like," Harry scoffed. "He's in the papers all the time and there's never been a scandal or anything," he pointed out.

"You of all people should know that reporters can be bought, but that's not the point," Draco quipped.

"Then what _is_ the point?" Harry asked, getting mildly frustrated by Draco's double talk.

"The point is, you need to know the answers to all the big questions before you 's step number two. You and Oliver are both fairly set in your ways and routine, you'll need to see to what points you're both willing to compromise to make the other happy," he explained.

"For instance?" Harry looked like he understood, but he was merely trying to clarify. Draco smiled warmly at him and shifted back in his chair, elegantly throwing one leg over the other knee as he made himself comfortable.

"For instance, once you're married, I assume you're planning to keep your own last name. You'll need to be sure Oliver is okay with that," Draco gave as example but Harry merely shrugged.

"Isn't it tradition to accept your partner's last name as your own?" Harry asked, his face awash with something Draco couldn't name. Perhaps he was already picturing his and Oliver's monogrammed towels. The thought made him scowl deeply for a moment before he carefully wiped all emotion from his features.

"It depends on the blood status, usually, when it's a gay marriage," Draco explained. "If you and Wood decided to adopt, you'd have to decide which name the child took, if there is a reason to propagate a family line or not. Wood, for instance has brothers, where you are the last of the Potters', so logically he would take your name."

"I don't know. It might be nice to leave Harry Potter behind," Harry mused, looking rather bright at the thought of escaping the fame tied to his moniker.

"Seriously?" Draco asked, his brow knit with confusion. He had assumed Harry would want to keep the Potter line alive, even if it was through adoption. Plus, there was the fact of the name itself. "You'd honestly rather be Harry Wood?" Draco asked, trying to withhold his laughter and failing quite thoroughly.

"Merlin!" Harry gasped, unable to stop his own fit of snickering. "That's dreadful isn't it? I couldn't possibly be Harry Wood, it's too awful!"

"Thank Salazar you have some sense at least. I'm not sure I could keep a straight face if we ever met up again after the nuptials and had to call you that," Draco teased, drowning in Harry's lovely smile and exuberant mirth.

The brunet quickly sobered and looked at Draco intently. "What do you mean, _if_?"

"Pardon?" Draco asked, not catching Harry's line of thinking.

"You said 'if we met up again' as if it's unlikely," Harry pointed out.

"Well, isn't it? I just assumed that once this arrangement was over that you'd flitter off to your happy seaside cottage with Wood, or whatever it is you Gryffindors do," Draco replied rather blandly.

"Right," Harry sighed. Once again he'd found himself thinking of Draco as a friend instead of…whatever position the man seemed to fill in Harry's life at the moment. Instructor, therapist, general thorn in his side? None of those seemed to fit, but friend didn't either. "I bet you can't wait until this is all over and you can be rid of me at last."

"If I could only be so lucky," Draco huffed. "Something tells me you plan to linger in my life long after I get you married off."

"Like a bad smell," Harry offered, a twinge of a smile quirking the edge of his lips.

"Exactly." Draco's own smile was soft, playful and a bit taunting all at once, making the flesh on Harry's arm tingle and the thin, ebony hairs stand on end. Draco cleared his throat sharply and shook his head, knocking them both out of the trance they'd slipped into. "Well, I think I've proven my point anyhow. Certain things are sticking points, what if Oliver was insistent that you take his name? Is this a point you would concede on?"

"It's just a name, nothing to end a relationship over," Harry rebuked as if Draco were insane. "If I have to be known as…Harry Wood," he added, barely containing his laughter at the name, "then so be it. I doubt you could tell me anything that would turn me off of him."

"What if he doesn't want kids?" Draco asked, his voice lowering in stark contrast to his quirked eyebrow. He'd taken Harry's words as a direct challenge, knowing from previous conversations that having children was important to the Gryffindor.

"Well, I-I," Harry stammered, clearly looking for some argument, but they all died abruptly on his lips.

"See," Draco huffed victoriously, "it's not all so black and white. You would consider dumping Oliver right this moment if you discovered he never wanted children, wouldn't you?"

"I might," he admitted, "but you did the personality tests on us, surely there would be a red flag raised if he didn't want kids," Harry pointed out.

"But it's still something you need to talk about. What if his idea of wanting kids is someday in the very distant future, or just that he likes kids but doesn't necessarily need any of his very own?" Draco mused. He hadn't conducted the interview himself, so even Draco didn't know exactly the response Oliver gave to the question. If he was going to lose his soul mate to another bloke, then dammit that bloke had better be worthy.

"Do _you_ want kids?" Harry asked, looking genuinely curious. The question was so out of the blue that Draco gaped like a fish for a moment before clearing his throat.

"I'm not the one you should be asking," he pointed out.

"We're friends, aren't we, Malfoy?" The Gryffindor looked so vulnerable as he asked, just a hint of it in those big, brilliant eyes, but it was there nonetheless, even if nothing else about his posture or expression betrayed that fact.

"I seem to recall you saying, very recently even, that you have no friends by the name Draco," he corrected, looking rather smug.

Harry blushed, a pink tinge to his cheeks to show his embarrassment. "That was a little overly rude, perhaps," he conceded.

"How magnanimous of you," Draco replied dryly. "I can now sleep soundly at night since hearing your eloquent apology."

"Has anyone ever told you that you're a right bastard," Harry laughed, shaking his head.

"Several people on many occasions, sometimes multiple times, why?" he asked, smiling sweetly. Harry could only chuckle and continue to shake his head. The blond knew he was a prat, relished in the fact even, but he also had a healthy sense of humor about it.

"Is it odd that I'm beginning to find your obnoxious behavior sort of endearing?" Harry leaned forward; glass of water in hand as he said it and nearly dropped said glass to the carpet at Draco's expression. The blond's grin was fierce, yet tender all at once, and Harry found himself wondering how an enigma like Malfoy had existed all this time without Harry have being made aware of it. Sure he'd known Malfoy most of his life, less so in the years that passed since Hogwarts, but there was something within the Slytherin now that wasn't there back at school. Some deeper knowledge of the universe and his place within it seemed to loom in the depths of those fathomless eyes.

Harry had the incredible urge to lean in and kiss those smirking lips but instead lifted the glass to his mouth and drank heavily from the water within, replacing it with a muttered spell when he'd drained the cup. Draco eyed him curiously, no doubt wondering where the sudden and extreme thirst had come from, but didn't mention it. "You'll get over it, I'm sure," he said instead, staying on topic.

"You're probably right," Harry agreed, chanting Oliver's name in his mind as he watched Malfoy flick his tongue out and wet his bottom lip. How did such a simple gesture look so erotic on the man? "So, how should I approach all this stuff with Olli? I mean, I can't just bombard him with a million questions, can I?"

"Excellent," Draco mused. "It's good to see you're paying attention and asking clever questions. No, you can't just bluntly as him if he wants kids like you did with me just now," Draco pointed out and laughed. "Well, you could, but it might put him off more than it did me."

"And he might just avoid my question altogether like you did," Harry countered with a smirk sosneaky, it didn't belong on a Gryffindor's face.

"Yes, I want kids," Draco replied with an indulgent smile and an exasperated huff. "As a Malfoy, heirs are important. But aside from that, I've always imagined having a little girl to spoil, though that will do very little to propagate the Malfoy name."

Harry's face softened drastically at the wistful gaze Draco met him with. He didn't know how he knew, but from that one expression alone, Harry could tell Malfoy would be a great father. He could see there was already affection building in his normally icy gaze for this person who didn't even exist in his life yet.

"A girl would be perfect," he found himself saying before he could stop his lips from moving. He took another long gulp of water and avoided Malfoy's gaze for a moment while he recuperated. He was treating this like he was on a date with Malfoy, when he was supposed to be getting dating _advice_ for his relationship with _Oliver_. What was he doing? "I wonder what Oliver would prefer?" he mused aloud, trying to cover his burgeoning and completely insane feelings for the blond.

"Well, you'd have to ask _him_ that, of course," Draco snapped, recovering quickly as he took a deep breath. It was fairly obvious that the blond was getting annoyed with Harry's penchant to veer off track. Harry wondered briefly how appalled the man would be if he were to learn Harry's daydreaming centered around him?

"So, how does one broach such a big topic on the third date?" he asked instead of enlightening Draco on his other thoughts.

"Typically one doesn't, but you're seeking the fast track and Oliver is a sure match, so it's probably a safe topic since we already know you both agree on the fundamentals at least. My suggestion would be to take a day trip to a park, or spend an afternoon with Luna and Ron's kids and invite Oliver along. The conversation can't be forced and bringing up the topic of kids should feel organic even if it isn't." he explained.

"I can ask him to Luna and Ron's for lunch tomorrow," Harry mused aloud, already thinking of how the date might go. Draco explained how to invite him, and what to say if Oliver couldn't make it for some reason.

It all made sense to Harry and he nodded as Draco went on, giving him pointers on how to bring up the trickier topics and still make them seem casual, all the while Harry was mentally berating himself for noticing how pink Malfoy's lips were, or how seductively large his hands were – which was hard _not_ to notice since he tended to use them quite often as he spoke, making wide, sweeping gestures with his long fingers during his instructions.

"Well, hopefully I won't find out anything too detrimental," Harry sighed when Draco seemed as though he was winding down. His stomach gave a violent growl and only then did he notice what time it was. The sky was darkening outside and he'd gotten there at noon, or just after as Draco would doubtless point out. How did so many hours slink by without his noticing? "Wow. I should really get out of your hair, I suppose. I've been here all day."

"Hmm" Draco mused, staring out the same window that had occupied Harry's gaze a moment before. "Yeah, I suppose we should really eat something. Do you have dinner plans already?"

"Oh, I-I," Harry stammered, caught slightly off guard by the question. Earlier that day he might not have hesitated, but was it appropriate to go out to dinner with this man now that he knew he was at least slightly attracted to him? What would Oliver think if he found out? The likelihood of being photographed if found dining with Draco Malfoy of all people was almost a sure thing. "I figured you'd be sick of me by now."

"Right," Draco sighed, letting his shoulders fall back to rest heavily in his armchair. "You _are_ quite the nuisance. It's probably best we eat separately. Besides, what would Oliver say if he discovered you out with a devastatingly handsome man like myself? It would be hard to convince him that this is simply a business arrangement, especially since he doesn't know what I do for a living."

The thought mirrored Harry's so completely that it gave him a moment of pause followed swiftly by a bout of guilt. Wasn't he the one who called them friends? Now he was finding excuses not to dine with the blond, as if he were some leper that Harry couldn't be seen in public with.

"I don't have plans actually," he said at last, despite his better judgment. "Would you like to go out?"

Draco pursed his lips into a smug pout and shook his head. "I don't need your pity, Potter. I'm perfectly capable of finding a dinner date. I'll speak with you next week to see how things go with Oliver tomorrow."

"Oh," Harry muttered, already feeling bereft of the man's company. He stood and offered his hand, which Draco shook very formally, his long fingers brushing against Harry's palm as they parted ways at the door. "Goodnight then. Sweet dreams," he offered and Draco closed his eyes lightly, blocking Harry from seeing the emotions that rolled through that shadowed gaze.

"Goodnight, Potter," he replied at last and shut the door softly, yet firmly behind him.

Harry stood on the landing for a moment, wondering why he felt the urge to knock, completely unaware that Draco's back was pressed into the wood of the other side, his head lolled back to rest uncomfortably against the door. Simultaneously, both men tore themselves away from Draco's entryway and went about their evening, trying to dispel the contentment and other confusing emotions they had felt together all day long.

Author's Note: Well, I think you all know me well enough by now to realize that I plan on dragging all this out, hm?


	9. No Good Reason

Author's Note: What's this? Another update of this story within the same week? *Gasp. How nice am I? I thought I would reward you all for giving this story 300 reviews already. It warms my heart to know you're all as fond of this pair as I am. Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their edits of this chapter, and thanks to all who have been reviewing so far. This story is going to be quite long (this chapter as well), so buckle berry faerie, follow me.

Chapter 9

"Uncle Harry!!" a tiny, yet loud voice shouted, the only warning Harry had that he was about to get an armful of small Weasley. Prewett wasted no time in claiming his attentions, throwing his arms around Harry as his two older brothers waited patiently to the side.

After divesting himself of the small blond's adoring grasp, he turned to introduce a blushing Oliver to Prewett and his brothers before Philius led them both by the hand into the sitting room where Luna and Ron were waiting with patient smiles. Oliver nodded casually to his hosts, Ron and Luna of course needing no introduction to Oliver, who held firmly onto Harry's free hand until Quinn squished into the sofa between them, chatting animatedly about the new dragon toy Ron had bought him in Hogsmeade on their last visit with Aunt Hermione.

Harry watched Oliver for signs of discomfort, but beamed as he saw the Scot enter into a conversation with Ron and Philius on the art of Quidditch and a Keeper's place within that group. Ron and Oliver could of course speak from professional experience; whereas Philius hoped to join the house team and liked the Keeper position the most, since it was his Father's place.

"I might not be lucky enough to be chosen first year, like Uncle Harry was for Gryffindor, but I hope to make it second to third year," the boy told Oliver judiciously.

"I was on the team with Harry his first year," Oliver told the boy proudly.

"Really?" Philius asked in abject wonder.

"He was my captain, actually," Harry corrected, shifting Quinn to his lap so he could lean in a bit closer to his date as he addressed his young nephew. All three boys were listening intently then, wanting to hear about how their guest had known Harry Potter as a boy. They'd heard all of their parents' stories a dozen times over and were eager for new information about their favorite uncle.

Oliver wove exciting tales about Harry's first year on the team, telling the boys how McGonagall had come to him with a prospective new player and how quickly Harry took to the game despite never even hearing of it before he was recruited. It was interesting to hear the story through his date's perspective, even though he knew it was at least somewhat embellished for the children's' sake.

It seemed Oliver had looked up to him, as both a fellow Gryffindor and a talented player. It was nice to know after everything he'd been through that not every relationship had to be a battle. He had looked up to Oliver as well, and it seemed fated that they be pulled together later in life. Although, it wasn't until Oliver glanced at him over the head of young Quinn, his eyes shining with untold emotion, that Harry noticed how well they clicked together.

Harry offered Oliver a smile, soft and sweet, and winked at him over the children's heads. This was going to work, and with Malfoy's help, they would have a perfect courtship. He'd been silly to even think of Malfoy as anything more than a teacher and perhaps a reluctant friend. They didn't have this ease and comfort that he and Oliver had, nor did they have any fond memories of one another from their childhood.

He could just imagine introducing Draco to his nephews. Instead of 'I used to play Quidditch with your uncle' they'd hear 'I used to openly insult and Hex your uncle in the corridors'. Wouldn't that be pleasant?

Oliver shot him a curious glance, and Harry replaced the smile that had faltered on his lips. Worrying over something that would never happen was a rubbish way to spend his date with Oliver. "You make it sound as if I was the most brilliant Seeker to have ever existed when you and I both know that's untrue. I couldn't even win us the cup until the year you graduated."

"Ah, but I'm not as fond of any other Seeker as I am of you," Oliver replied with a faint blush tingeing his cheeks, placing a kiss on Harry's own flushing face to the sound of childish 'Ooh's' reverberating through the room. Harry was appalled to discover it wasn't just the three boys catcalling but that Ron and Luna had joined in as well.

--------------------------------------------

Harry was basking in the warm glow of Oliver's affection all afternoon. Tea had been entertaining with Quinn insisting on serving them all rather clumsily while Prewett could go into professional scone pushing he was so adept at making people feel guilty for not eating. Harry already saw the hints of Molly in the boy that indicated spending too much time around the bustling grandmother. He couldn't keep the smile from his face as he thought of an older Prewett in a ruffled apron, toiling over several magical pots and pans filled with delicious smelling foods.

Quinn took more after his mother, with dusty blond hair and dreamy blue eyes. He was fascinated with anything abnormal or peculiar sounding and often made up tales of creatures he'd discovered in his room – mostly to excuse the messes – and often went hunting in the gardens for new and unusual specimens. Philius took after Ron in both Quidditch enthusiasm and appetite and Harry could always count on pawning off Prewett's forced extra helpings on the growing boy.

Aside from the flurry of tiny waiters scurrying around the table, Harry mostly concentrated on Ron, Luna and their opinion of Oliver. Ron seemed rather proud of himself for the match, and kept nudging Harry in the rib with a 'what did I tell ya, Harry? He's the best, right?' to which Harry never had any argument.

Oliver was reserved, but not terribly shy about subtle public displays of affection, always twining his fingers absently in Harry's sleeve or running his index finger languidly down the man's thigh as they chatted about the upcoming tour for the World Cup. Harry was fascinated to learn that the teams actually got on quite well outside the pitch, and never really quarreled amongst each other too much. Oliver and Ron spoke vaguely of strategy, and it was almost a given that Puddlemere would end up in the finals, while Ron hoped desperately to get the Cannons up to snuff so that they might make it to the championship this year again. It also came as a pleasant surprise that Oliver wouldn't be out of town as often as Harry expected. They would typically only go away for the weekend and then practice in their home pitch for the rest of the week. It set his mind as ease to know he wasn't going to be entirely abandoned for several straight months of games.

In the end, it wasn't Harry who even had to bring up the touchy subject of children; Luna did that heavy lifting for him as they finished their tea. "So, Oliver, have you thought about having kids yourself?" she asked, grinning at her youngest boy bouncing in the Keeper's lap.

"Sure," he replied easily, ruffling Prewett's hair. "It would have to wait until I retire from the team, of course, because I would want to spend as much time with them as possible, but I definitely see adoption in my future."

Harry didn't miss the man's gaze sliding surreptitiously toward him as he finished, his dark eyes curious, but again, he didn't need to say a word. "Harry's always wanted kids," Luna replied with a smirk, ignoring Harry's blush at having the conversation taken out of his hands.

"I have," Harry admitted with a nod, beaming over as Prewett grinned at him.

"I want another cousin," the boy announced. "Uncle Harry, does that mean you'll turn into a girl?"

Ron guffawed, Luna barely stifled a giggle and both Oliver and Harry blushed furiously at the question. "Well, Harry?" Ron prompted. "I think we'd all like to know the answer to that."

"No, Prewett," Harry explained carefully. "If I bring you a new cousin, they would be adopted."

"What does doppded mean?" the boy asked, his head quirked like a curious owl.

"Adopted," Harry corrected lightly, "means that another mommy would have had the child but couldn't take care of it for some reason so I would take care of them instead."

"Oh!" the boy exclaimed. "Like what daddy said happened to you?"

Harry nodded, his smile growing somber for a moment. "Exactly like that."

"Only Harry will be a much better father than those fat lumps who raised him," Ron pointed out. He ignored the harsh glance he got from Luna for using derogatory names around the children and Oliver stared at Harry for a long moment, both curiosity and understanding dawning in those dark, brown eyes.

"And you, Olli, are you going to marry my uncle Harry?" Prewett asked, a fountain of awkward comments that morning.

"We'll just have to see about that, scout," he replied, his smile lazy and content and his eyes all for Harry.

"Well, if you do, can I be in the wedding?" he asked, puffing up his chest.

"I'm sure that could be arranged," Oliver replied, bouncing the toddler playfully on his knee. Harry could feel the warm fingers of bliss curl around him in a tight embrace as he watched his boyfriend playing with Prewett and the other boys while gazing at him with powerful emotions they couldn't speak about with such an audience.

Luna seemed pleased with Oliver's answers and behavior, and it was quite obvious that Ron thought he should be elected Minister for Matchmaking. "I could rival Malfoy with my pairing skills," he muttered, making Luna laugh and Harry choke on his biscuit.

"So, you mentioned eventual retirement," Harry blurted, quickly changing the subject before Oliver caught on to Ron and Luna's conversation. "I didn't think that would be in the cards for you anytime soon."

"Not soon, no." Oliver put Prewett down, who ran over to see what Quinn was up to and leveled his full attention on his date. "I hope to have another ten years in me, but who knows. Right now I have no reason to cut back, but maybe I'll find a reason."

Harry's heart skipped as he suspected Oliver might be hinting at him, but he dared not hope too much. The man was obsessed with the game, and Harry knew he would be a close second to it at best for awhile, just like his job at the Ministry would likely come before Oliver until they got truly serious, but unlike Oliver and Quidditch, Harry didn't think he'd ever be able to give up saving people, and Oliver might have a harder time giving up being Puddlemere's Keeper than he was letting on.

Still, a niggling of worry set into Harry's belly at the thought. If Oliver continued to play and travel, would he change his mind and want kids before he retired? Harry didn't think he'd like to just start out with a toddler at forty. He already felt like it was growing too late for him to have the family he wanted. True, as a mostly pure-blood wizard, Harry would live well past a Muggle's normal life, but he wanted to ensure that he would be around for all the big milestones. He didn't want to be too old to enjoy them.

It was far too early in their relationship to be making demands or ultimatums, though. Plus, if he and Oliver got married, that might prove to be enough to make the man take a lesser role in the team than Keeper and Captain and then perhaps adoption would soon follow. Besides, he was only on step two of his program with Malfoy, so he could hardly get too worked up over anything now.

He had done what he'd set out to do, resolving the only unwavering demand he would have on a lover, and he felt content in Oliver's answer and the promise of a bright future together.

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"I don't know," Luna objected before biting into a buttered croissant and chewing it for far longer than her friends deemed proper, especially when making them hang on her words. "They seemed very happy together," she finished at last.

Ginny grumbled, fearing her steep wager was on the verge of tumbling into Luna's pocket. She and Hermione had bet that Draco would woo the pants off of their Harry, quite literally, but now it seemed the other candidate for Harry's affections was better suited to him than any of them could have anticipated. Expect perhaps Luna, who was smiling smugly at her girlfriends.

"You should have seen him with the boys today," she went on wistfully. "They would make the most tender and caring parents."

"If we could only get him into bed with Draco, there would be no room for Oliver in Harry's mind then," Ginny quipped, tapping the bottom of her saucer with perfectly manicured nails as she thought about how to do that. "Perhaps we could get them both drunk," she mused.

"That's hardly Harry's style," Hermione reminded her. "He'd just feel guilty about it and grovel for Oliver not to hate him and probably end up losing both prospects in the process."

"True," Ginny huffed. "That sounds exactly like Harry."

"I still say that we should just let this all play out without any interference from us," Luna sighed, looking for all the world like she was thinking of the whole situation quite charitably, but Ginny wasn't buying it. She'd had too many glimpses of Luna's Ravenclaw cunning to fall for that act.

"You would," she scoffed daintily. "As is stands right now you're winning without lifting a finger."

Luna smirked, but said nothing more. Hermione seemed torn. She wanted Harry to be happy above all, and whoever did that for him was the one she wanted him to be with, but she honestly thought, after months of research and deliberation on the subject, that Harry was overlooking Draco in the worst way. He was imposing his childhood rivalry and making Malfoy into a man who no longer existed. Loath as she was to admit it, Draco Malfoy was a prize specimen. Not only his obvious qualities, like good looks and wealth, but the man also had a keen sense of humor, a deep intelligence and a larger heart than he would ever let anyone fully realize until he chose to share it completely.

The papers made him out to be the same villain he'd been as a teenager, but Hermione knew better. The more she learned about Draco, the more she thought he would perfectly compliment her best friend. "I don't think it has much to do with a physical connection," she corrected her flame-haired friend. "They obviously have that already. We need to find a way to make Harry realize that there is _more_ to Draco than just the obvious attractions."

"Well, that would certainly be enough for me, but you're probably right," she muttered. "If Harry just wanted a pretty face he could choose from a long list of willing suitors."

"You're so full of it, Gin," Luna quipped and shook her head lightly. "You know very well that Clive is more to you than a nice face and body."

Ginny blushed, but only slightly before she waved the comment off. "You're right. He's also spectacular in bed."

Both of her friends scoffed at her blithe dismissal. "I've seen him feed you at meals, and I've seen your eyes light up," Hermione told her.

"And I've seen the way you lean into him when you're talking to someone else, as if you can't even bare not to touch him," Luna added.

"Hush," Ginny reprimanded. "So, we're well matched. That's all Draco's doing after all, so it seems time we pay him back for his good deeds. What better gift to tell him we appreciate him than our Harry?"

Hermione giggled at the image of a gift-wrapped Harry Potter being left on Draco's doorstep. She wondered briefly if shiny, red bows came that large. Surely Draco would love the gesture, and equally love unwrapping his prize, but she didn't think it would be quite as easy as that.

"Well, I have to agree with Luna for the moment," she begrudgingly admitted, ignoring Ginny's pout. "Harry and Draco will be spending plenty of time together in the coming weeks. If Draco can't convince Harry of his worth by then, maybe it's just not meant to be," she reasoned.

Ginny wholeheartedly disagreed, but remained silent since she was outnumbered for the moment. She honestly thought both men were oblivious enough to botch everything up without any outside prompting, but she had no ideas for how to sneakily interfere, so she would bide her time and hope Harry didn't get too much closer to Wood in the meanwhile.

She wanted Harry happy as well, and felt the same way about her Slytherin friend, and knew instinctively that they would be perfection together, but more importantly, she hated to lose.

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Monday came and went with no word from Malfoy. It wasn't until Harry was preparing for bed - clad only in a pair of comfy pajama bottoms and no shirt - on Tuesday night that he realized he'd been waiting impatiently for Malfoy to contact him. The fireplace chose that moment to flare up, startling Harry to the point of jumping she he glanced over to see Malfoy's head sticking out of the fire, his gaze lingering too long on Harry's bare chest. He'd thought the man might still be irked from their awkward goodbye the other night, but Draco seemed neutral now, which was all Harry could rightfully ask for.

Draco had never looked so Slytherin in all his life as he did with green flames licking around his face, casting an eerie glow on his pointed features and making his eyes seemed shadowed. "So, how did it go?" he asked bluntly. No, 'Hullo, Harry, how are you?' or 'Good to see you again, Mate', but Harry supposed feeling bitter about that was counterproductive because it didn't really matter that he and Draco weren't friendly with one another. They were both professionals and could handle this arrangement without any of the animosity of their childhood making them bicker constantly, but it didn't mean they had to go out for pints afterward either.

"Well, I think," he answered with a grin, sitting on the floor just inside the cool flames so he could make out all of Draco's expressions. "He seemed to have a good time, and he definitely wants to have kids eventually, and I didn't even have to ask him."

"Indeed? Do tell," he asked, though his tone made him seem less interest than his words.

"Luna brought it up while Olli was playing with Prewett," Harry explained.

"How are the boys?" Draco asked, skipping over Oliver altogether.

"They're good, really good actually," Harry replied. "Quinn is getting so big, and Philius is so excited to go to Hogwarts next year. They are all so bright and energetic."

"I remember," Draco mused, "though it's been a couple months since I've seen them. Hermione tells me that the girls and Teddy are doing spectacular in their classes and that Teddy's a natural flyer."

"I don't know about natural," Harry teased. "It took me six weeks of prompting to even get him on a broom."

"No doubt, after watching some of the terrifying maneuvers you do," Draco laughed.

"I didn't make him do anything like that." Harry gasped with mock offence and wished he could shove the blond. "He was just nervous, that's all, but he did take to it well enough afterwards, and lucky for him he didn't inherit any of your cousin's grace."

"Or lack thereof," Draco added, but his voice was distant and tinged with sorrow. "I wish I'd known her better."

The comment seemed so out of context from someone of Draco's masked countenance that Harry shifted slightly and leaned in toward the harmless flames. "Why didn't you?" he asked, already suspecting the answer.

"Andromeda had been cast out of our family, just like Sirius," he sighed. "Acknowledging them was forbidden."

"That's such a stupid way to deal with people," Harry seethed, feeling injustice for both Sirius and himself. He'd dealt with his own childhood long ago, but it still incensed him when others so easily shoved aside family. Some people, purebloods especially, took their family members for granted in a way Harry never thought he would be capable of.

"You couldn't even begin to understand the kind of sacrifice it takes to make a decision about someone who betrays the family name in the way that Andromeda did," Draco replied sharply, before letting out a deep sigh, "but yes, it is quite stupid."

Harry was preparing to snap and argue and perhaps even end the fire call based on Draco's early words, but he paused abruptly and let the last comment wash over his anger, dulling it significantly. "Did I just hear a Malfoy admit that they were wrong," Harry teased, hoping to lighten the heavy cloud that seemed to hang over them both.

A brief smirk shadows Draco's lips but he shook his head. "Never," he quipped. "I was merely pointing out that there might be, however so slight, flaws in the way purebloods as a whole see the world and their place in it."

It was the closest thing Harry thought the blond had ever gotten to an admission of guilt and the round about way the blond came to it made him laugh aloud. "You're devotion to antiquated things fascinates me, Malfoy."

"It's not antiquated, it's traditional. There is a difference," he pointed out.

"A very slight difference in this case," Harry countered.

"Fine, fine," Draco replied with a wave, his hand popping briefly into sight through the emerald flames, his gray eyes shimmering in the light. "So, back on point. No issues with Oliver? Nothing that you can see tearing you apart in the near of even distant future."

"Nothing at all," Harry reported with a grin and he imagined the sigh Draco gave was relieved and not grudging. "Luna and Ron both like him as well."

"We already knew that though," Draco pointed out. "I'll need to observe you both with the rest of your friends soon, his as well."

"I think that can probably be worked out." Harry was trying to think of the kinds of people Oliver might introduce him to, teammates probably, and smiled. He could see himself fitting in well enough with the blokes from Puddlemere. "Maybe I'll see if he wants to bring some of them by to the gathering this Friday. It's at my place this week."

"Splendid idea," Draco replied, though he looked troubled. "Perhaps I could come by before hand and help you get the place in order."

"What's wrong, Malfoy? Worried I'll leave out my porn collection to embarrass his friends?" Harry's smile was taunting, but light, playful and exuberant and Draco simply rolled his eyes before returning one in kind.

"That's exactly what I worry over," he quipped.

"Well, it's fine by me if you stop over early, but I'm not letting you go through my things," he warned, still smiling.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Draco replied and held up his hand, symbolizing he was about to end the Floo call. Harry panicked slightly, not wanting the conversation to draw to a close so soon, which was the only way he could justify what blurted from his lips in that moment.

"What _do_ you dream about?"

Draco's eyes widened comically, but his face looked haunted, even after he smiled indulgently. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he asked, eyebrow raised in challenge before he abruptly ended the fire call, leaving Harry to stare into ordinary orange flames. He'd been leaning so close to the hearth that when the real fire returned, it nearly singed off his brow. Thankfully his sense of self-preservation kicked in enough to make him throw his weight away from the fire, instead sprawling out on the rug as he stared up at the ceiling. The rich, wooden fan blades circled around and around, making him as dizzy as he had been when chatting with his old enemy.

Harry decided he had to stop thinking of him that way once and for all. Malfoy was a different person now than he had been when they were children; Harry himself was different as well. There was no reason he and Malfoy couldn't become close friends through this process, the others had all achieved a deeper bond with the man because of it, even Ron, so why wouldn't it work that way for him as well?

It would, Harry decided, because he was going to make the effort to get closer to Draco. They had shared so many early experiences after all, so why not? Surely they had enough in common to be close mates one day. There was no good reason why he couldn't go out to dinner, or to a pub with the blond if he wanted to. Furthermore, there was no good reason to feel guilty for talking to Malfoy about things that were unrelated to the program.

No good reason at all.

Author's Note: No good reason whatsoever, until the next chapter of course. *wink


	10. Friends

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed so far.

Chapter 10 Friends

The house was as immaculate as Harry thought it could be, and he tried to concentrate on the food as Kreacher went about behind him, somehow still finding things to tidy. When every sofa cushion had been properly fluffed, every wooded surface properly polished and every bit of exposed floor shining and clean, Harry sighed with relief and could finally focus on his canapés.

As if on queue, the fireplace flared and Harry noticed out of the corner of his eye, his blond friend emerging and glancing around the sitting room. "In here," Harry called from the alcove that separated the kitchen from the main room and Draco strode quickly to his side. HarryHe picked up one of the finished canapés and shoved it unceremoniously into Draco's mouth as he opened it to greet the brunet. "Taste this," Harry ordered, nearly gagging the man in his haste to get an opinion.

Draco managed to chew and swallow it without choking, and delighted smile curved his lips. "Delicious," he commented and Harry grinned. "What is it you just forced down my throat?"

"Duck, goat cheese, fig and puff pastry," Harry explained as his agile fingers began working again.

Draco's hand went to his neck while his mouth made choking and sputtering noises. Harry dropped all of his ingredients and rushed to Draco's side, wand raised at the ready. "What is it, what's wrong?"

"I'm allergic to fig," Draco rasped and all the color drained out of Harry's face.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," Harry cursed as he pressed against Draco and searched his own mind for any spell he knew that could help in this situation. "What should I do?" he pleaded, desperate to fix his Slytherin friend.

"You need," he replied, breathing shallowly between each word, "to kiss me," he spluttered.

Harry narrowed his eyes and took a step back from Draco as he folded his arms across his chest. Draco couldn't keep the act up any longer and laughed, pulling himself back up to his full height. "You're a prat," Harry muttered. "And now I'm behind on the food."

"Oh, stop being so sullen. You need to loosen up or else all of Wood's friends are going to think you're an uptight git," Draco informed him through a deep smirk.

"I thought…I thought you were going to die," Harry confessed, staring down at his still shaking hands as he accidentally squished a fig between his fingers. "Don't. Ever. Do. That. Again," he bit out angrily.

"I promise," Draco replied, running his hands up and down Harry's arms soothingly. His chest was pressed firmly into Harry's back and he enveloped the other man into a hug from behind, wrapping him up tightly until Harry stopped shaking. "Would you have missed me?" he asked playfully against the shell of the brunet's ear.

"More that I should, you wicked prat," Harry sighed, leaning into the warm embrace until they heard a sharp clearing of a throat and ripped away from one another like they were on fire.

"Luna!" Harry greeted with a startled blush. "You're early."

"Just in time, I'd say," she quipped, her eyes flicking back and forth between a flushing Malfoy and an equally pink Harry.

"He was choking," Harry muttered lamely.

"Ah, yes. That certainly explains why you two were practically spooning in the kitchen. Oh, are those figs?" she asked, her attention diverted at once. Harry sighed in relief and bustled to her side without a glance at Malfoy. He was too embarrassed to look at the other man just then.

What would have happened if it had been Oliver who had shown up early? Harry shuddered at the thought of the scene that would make. He hadn't even told Olli about his classes with Malfoy, and it looked bad enough without having to tack an omission of truth to the top of it like a rotten cherry atop a melted sundae.

"I'm going to inspect your place for anything Oliver might find off-putting," Draco murmured and left the kitchen at Harry's dismissing nod while the brunet cast his focus back on his canapés and Luna's dreamy questions.

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Draco's heart thudded violently in his chest as he made the rounds of Harry's living room and dining area. Aside from a photo of an old boyfriend, which Draco deemed acceptable since it was also simply a photo of Fred and George, Draco found nothing incriminating in Harry's flat. He was a little disappointed with that fact, but then he reasoned he hadn't visited the bedroom or any of the bathrooms yet.

The thought of sneaking into Harry's bedroom had a bit of Slytherin appeal. He hoped to find out some weird kink in the man's bureau, but entering the master suite without a naked and sweaty Harry in tow didn't seem worth the effort.

Draco shook his head and tried to quell his pounding heart. Luna had interrupted them in the nick of time, because Draco was closer to turning Harry around in his arms and kissing the oblivious Gryffindor than he'd ever been before. Holding him, touching him – it had been sweeter than anything Draco could speak of. For those brief moments, Draco had felt so complete, so blissfully happy that he was willing to ignore the vows that were placed upon his head and his life. He wanted Harry more than he wanted to live, which terrified him and rendered his situation rather hopeless. He could either try and win Harry, and die the moment he succeeded, or he could help him woo another and potentially die of grief from the loss.

He shook his head more sharply this time, trying to imagine his father's voice as he chastised himself for being melodramatic. No one ever died of heartache. Draco would live, and he'd find himself a partner that he could be content with and as soon as this nonsense with Potter and Wood was behind him, he could move away and never be troubled again.

It would be fine so long as he kept a professional distance from Harry in the future. Not that he seemed capable of doing that. Harry left himself open to flirtation far too often. It was difficult, if not impossible for Draco to resist.

----------------------------------------------------

Oliver arrived with four other men in tow, and Harry greeted all of them in turn before passing them off to mingle with his friends. There was Jacque, Countius, Rupert and Logan, all fellow teammates for Puddlemere United. Oliver explained that he didn't often get out much to meet new people, and he got on just fine with his team, so why not think of them as friends outside the pitch. Harry was secretly pleased about this, and the fact that Oliver didn't have a sordid past with tons of flings and exes for Harry to worry about.

Still, it didn't escape Harry's notice that Logan Bradford seemed interested in Oliver as more than friends. In fact, the Seeker seemed downright enamored with every word that left Oliver's mouth. Harry tried to stifle his jealousy, knowing that he had no reason whatsoever to suspect that Oliver would be unfaithful, even though this bloke got to spend significantly more time with his boyfriend than Harry did. In fact, he was eerily close to rethinking his position on staying with the Ministry and wondered if Oliver's offer to join as Seeker was still on the table. Harry would be pleased to see the obviously leering man sacked from the team altogether.

Harry slipped his arm around Oliver's waist, a bit more possessively than he might have if left unchallenged, and leveled Bradford with an even glare. He was proud when he decided the look was neither friendly nor menacing. Let the prat make guesses to how Harry felt about him, or let him suspect Harry hadn't even noticed his overt flirtation with Oliver.

"He's rather good looking," Draco pointed out, whispering against Harry's ear. Oliver didn't seem to notice Draco moving closer, still wrapped up in a conversation with Ron and Logan about last week's practice game.

"He's alright," Harry quipped. Logan was a bit taller than Harry, which put him closer to Oliver's height. He had dark blond hair that was far tamer than Harry's but it was cut unflatteringly and made his ears look a little bigger than they were. He was trim and agile like a Seeker needed to be, and his clothes fit nicely on his thin frame, but Harry didn't think there was anything too remarkable about the man.

"Well, I'll admit he doesn't have the innate Potter beauty but-"

His words were deftly cut off by Harry's snort of amused protest. "Yes, I needed a sarcastic remark about my looks to make this even more awkward. How did you know?"

"Well, I only want what's best for you, after all," he told Harry starkly. "And anyway, who said I was being sarcastic?" he asked before slipping away to his post where he could watch Potter from a distance and take notes on his behavior with Oliver.

Harry rolled his eyes and tried to focus on the conversation that had gone on without him.

"-Should have seen his face as that Quaffle whizzed by his head," Logan was saying. "Olli looked so surprised I thought he was going to fall off his broom."

A twinge of rage flittered through Harry at the use of Oliver's nickname by a man who was decidedly _not_ his boyfriend, but he tried to suppress it. "Logan would make a fine Chaser," Oliver agreed. "No one has ever gotten one by me like that before."

"Probably because you were too busy staring at him to notice the Quaffle," Harry muttered under his breath. No one seemed to hear but the arm around his waist tightened slightly and Oliver glanced over, leveling Harry with an intensely satisfied gaze.

"What was that, Hon?" he asked and Harry shook his head, a brilliant flush coloring his cheeks.

"Nothing important. I was just wondering aloud whether Bradford had Confunded you or something. It does seem unlikely that someone like him would be able to score against you," he mused.

"Someone like me?" Logan sputtered, obviously upset about the insinuation. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry smiled innocently and stuffed his jealousy deep down in his gut. "A Seeker," he replied diplomatically. "You're not trained to make goals, you're trained to catch the Snitch."

"I would love it if you would come play a practice game with us, Harry." He didn't know if Oliver was changing the subject because he could sense his animosity, or if it was merely for Logan's sake, but the shift concerned him.

"But you already have a Seeker," Harry pointed out.

"You play that position?" Logan asked.

"Not professionally, obviously, but I did in Hogwarts," Harry replied with a guarded smile.

"He was the youngest Seeker in over a Century," Oliver boasted and hugged Harry tightly against his side.

"Is that right?" Logan queried, though he looked a tad ill. "Why don't you play for a team then?"

"I found a different calling," Harry replied. "I didn't find buzzing around in the air in search of the Golden Snitch as rewarding as keeping Death Eaters off of our streets."

"I can't believe you're knocking Quidditch," Oliver remarked, shaking his head as if his world was imploding around him. The comment made to throw off Logan had inadvertently injured his boyfriend's pride.

"I'm sure he didn't mean it that way, Olli," Logan said, and shot a pitying look in Harry's direction. "He's probably just not as good on a broom these days and wanted to boost up his pride."

Harry seethed and narrowed his eyes at Logan, his gaze, he knew, was as menacing as the one he'd leveled on Voldemort in his final hours. "I'd take you on any day of the week, Bradford."

The man's lilac eyes lit up as Harry fell into his trap. He wanted to groan at the ease with which he'd been tricked, but it was too late to back down now. "How about tonight then?" Logan challenged, and Harry flinched but nodded.

"Yeah, alright." His voice was curt and Oliver spent a moment glancing between him and his teammate before shrugging to Ron who whooped dramatically and took over from that point.

Ron handed out Apparition coordinates to the regulation pitch the Weasley's used for family games in the yard behind the Burrow. It served as neutral ground for the battle as neither Harry nor Logan had ever flown it. Within minutes the entire dinner party was waiting for Harry and Logan to launch their brooms into the sky. Harry felt more nervous than ever as he allowed his gaze to flick to Oliver, who was standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed and his mouth pursed cutely. He couldn't figure out what Oliver thought of the testosterone driven match, and Wood was keeping his face carefully neutral so that Harry had very little chance of deciphering it.

Malfoy on the other hand stood a few paces away and appeared livid with Harry's macho display. Nothing but those calculating, gray eyes betrayed the intense emotion, but Harry could see it clearly enough. Although sensing it and understanding it was two very different things.

A whistle blared through the silence and Harry shot up like a bat out of hell, chasing the tiny glimmer of gold already receding into the distance. He only vaguely noted Logan's position, intent on beating the man; he couldn't spend more time checking his rival's whereabouts than he did the Snitch. Oliver taught him that.

Although, he realized only too late that Oliver probably taught Logan that as well. Logan rushed by him in a burst of speed, his robes flapping in a way that cut of Harry's sightline, so he feinted to the right and with gritted teeth, launched himself forward until they were neck and neck. He could hear the low rumble of Logan's growl as they both caught sight of the Snitch zooming right at them. Harry readied himself to yank the blasted ball out of the night sky, but the little, golden orb had better ideas and instead, it fell into a steep dive.

Harry matched it with ease. If Logan thought chasing after the Snitch was a challenge, he should try chasing after a flying Death Eater. At least the Golden Snitch couldn't launch Unforgivables over its shoulder as it flew away. They dove, Logan a hand's breadth behind him, and they were both angled to smash into the ground.

"Are you crazy, Potter?" Logan shouted at last, but Harry paid no attention and kept on course when Logan fell back. Victory was his as he reached out and curled his fingers around the shining ball, pulling out of his dive sharply enough to avoid a crash.

Logan wasn't so lucky.

Even though he'd slowed his broom's trajectory, he hadn't slowed enough, or pulled out of the dive quickly enough to avoid the harsh impact of the ground. Logan grunted as he tumbled head over feet to land at the edge of the field furthest from the crowd.

Harry was left to stare out over the pitch, the Snitch clutched victoriously in his palm, as Oliver ran to Logan's side to see if he was okay. Obviously Harry hadn't been injured in the game, or else Oliver would have come rushing to his side, not Logan's. Or at least, those were the silent words Harry thought over and over as he watched his boyfriend kneel over Logan's prone form. If Harry hadn't known any better, he would have suspected this was Bradford's plan all along.

Some of the other party joined Oliver on the other side of the pitch, mostly his teammates, while the rest hung back with Harry. Draco was at his side at once, asking if Harry was okay, and all Harry could do was nod. It seemed there was a vast rift between he and Oliver, one that he had caused without any help. "You should have told me not to do this," Harry whispered at last and Draco sneered at him.

"Would you have listened to me?" he asked snidely and Harry merely shrugged.

"Probably not."

"Then why bother wasting my breath," Draco replied, his voice more gentle, but still a sharp, reprimanding hiss.

Harry rounded on him then. Ready to take his anger out on the first available target. "Because you're supposed to be my friend!"

"None of your other friends warned you off this path, Potter. So, why give me that blame? If you're too shortsighted to see the traps placed right in front of your feet, I can't help you," he argued and Harry glared at him for as long as his conscience would permit. Draco was right. Harry was better than this. He should have seen the man's challenge for what it was, a chance to discredit Harry while making himself the object of Oliver's attention. Perhaps it hadn't been the man's plan, but it was the result of it nonetheless, and that's all that truly mattered in the end.

Harry finally dropped his gaze and marched off the field, Apparating back to his own flat. A few people followed him, Malfoy included, but Oliver never did. No doubt he was promising to nurse his teammate back to health, even if it took late night visits and sponge baths. Harry shook away the images, knowing deep down that wasn't true. Even if Oliver were pissed at Harry for his teammates injury, he wouldn't stray like that. He wouldn't be unfaithful, not even in the innocent way Harry had done earlier that day with Draco wrapped around him like a comforting blanket.

He placated his friends with stories about being tired and wanting to retire early, but even as they all left, he wondered when Oliver would contact him again – _if_ he would contact him again – or if Harry should extend the first olive branch. He didn't even know if Oliver was angry, or just concerned for his teammate, and that made him hesitate.

Eventually he decided to leave it until morning, and slumped boneless to the sofa, letting his head loll into his hands. When another weight pressed into the sofa beside him, Harry started and looked over to see Draco's pale and beautiful face beside him. The fact that he would have liked to bury his face into the man's neck and seek comfort in those pouting lips made Harry turn away and sigh. He was no better than Logan Bradford, chasing after something that wasn't his to pursue.

"Are you happy with the conclusion of your little power play?" Draco asked, a sneer planted firmly on his lips at Harry's reaction to him sitting there.

"I won, didn't I?" Harry spat, not in the mood to be lectured by Draco Malfoy of all people. He got up and paced the room before stopping next to his banister. Part of him wanted to invite the blond git up, offer him the shag of his life just to calm the queasy quakes that echoed his jealousy of wondering where Oliver was in that moment, but he knew better. As much as Ginny tried to goad him into sleeping with the blond, Harry just wasn't interested in casual sex with anyone, least of all this man who smelled like the sweet death of his relationship with Oliver. He hated that he felt the urge to wrap himself around the blond, and he hated Draco for inciting the feeling to start with.

"Does one merely have to dare you into something to get their way?" Draco replied, his lips pursed in curiosity from his position on the sofa.

"Apparently," Harry muttered in half-sarcasm. He felt like a prat having goaded Logan into the match, and it hadn't worked anyway. Oliver left with him and his teammates and Harry was here alone, or worse than alone as it were. He'd much rather his home be empty than have to stare down into the seductive gray eyes of Draco Malfoy.

"Well, then I dare you to kiss me," Draco challenged, launching himself from the couch to stand a few paces away from the brunet. Harry gave him such a glare it might have imploded a lesser man, but Draco remained steady and smoldering.

"Would you come off it, Malfoy. I'm aware of your interest in me, but I also know it's shallow and loveless. Now, if you're done rubbing my face in my failures, I'd like to go to bed," he huffed and angled toward the stairs.

"You're an ignorant little twat, Harry Potter," Draco seethed and marched to plant himself right in front of the brunet, breathing him in through flared nostrils. Harry's stance didn't change, his arms stayed rigidly folded across his chest and his gaze remained detached and angrily unseeing. Draco let out a strangled growl and turned away from him before marching to the door.

Without a second glance, Draco left Harry alone in his self-imposed misery, dead set against risking his life anymore for this fruitless endeavor.

Author's Note: I have nothing witty to say at the moment so I'll give you all sulky Draco lollipops and cranky Harry cookies. I hope you all liked the update.


	11. Early Riser

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed the story so far (I can hardly believe how popular this story is!). I may write it for me, but I love hearing what you guys have to say. I revamped my outline slightly and it seems there will be about 25 chapters in this story.

Chapter 11 Early Riser

It was too quickly apparent to Harry that Oliver was an early morning kind of person. Harry wasn't the kind of guy who liked to luxuriate in his bed long after waking, or sleep for hours upon hours – his nightmares usually prevented that – but neither was he bright and chipper at six in the morning as it seemed Oliver was.

He grudgingly went to the window to let in Oliver's owl, a stunning bird with feathers so tawny they nearly looked orange. He tried to stifle a yawn and failed, then tried not to be irked by the fact that Oliver's bird had woken him up a whole hour earlier than he would have liked, especially given the way the man had left without a word the night before, and in this he was more successful.

Harry had reasoned last night, after the front door to his flat slammed shut behind a livid Malfoy, that he had no right to be jealous of Logan when he himself was entertaining thoughts – however brief and unheeded – about another man. The dark angel on his left shoulder wanted desperately to call Oliver out on the obvious attraction Logan had for him, but the light angel on his right shoulder told him to stop being such a hypocrite. Besides, just because Logan so clearly fancied Oliver, didn't mean Oliver was ever going to act on it. Just like he was never going to allow anything romantic to culminate between he and Malfoy.

It just wasn't going to happen.

With those thoughts in mind, Harry tore open the letter and read through the familiarly messy writing of his boyfriend.

_Harry,_

_You handled that broom with more skill than I had anticipated possible after years away from regular practice. I was very impressed. Still, did you have to go and make a mess of my Seeker? Logan's at St. Mungo's and they think he'll be okay after a couple weeks but that pulls him out of some much-needed practice. I'm not blaming you, Harry. I'm just frustrated that my Seeker is in Hospital and my boyfriend disappeared._

_What happened to you last night?"_

_Olli_

Harry sighed and shifted uncomfortably in his chair as if Oliver were right there demanding the answers. Too late, Harry had realized that he maybe should have gone with his boyfriend to St. Mungo's but his injured pride had sent him home instead, where he ended up fighting with the other important man in his life. When had Draco Malfoy become important to him for Merlin's sake? Why did that prat, storming out like a scorned two-year-old, make Harry feel worse than this polite dressing down he got from his boyfriend – the man he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with? It was crazy, insane, mad…he could go on forever about how ridiculous it was, but that wouldn't be very productive. He had another lesson with the blond in a few hours and he could vent then, but he refused to think about the petulant Slytherin until then.

Instead, he sat down to write Oliver back, mulling over the best response to his questions. Olli had always been forthright with him, so it only made sense to use the same direct method when writing the man back.

_My dearest Olli,_

_I honestly don't know what came over me last night. Perhaps it was the effect of preparing too many tedious canapés or too much adrenaline on my broom, or maybe I was jealous of Logan. It's likely the latter. He seems rather enamored of you and I didn't handle it as smoothly as I should have. I'm truly sorry he got hurt, but he shouldn't enter into a dive he can't handle, so I don't think I should be taking the blame for that much at least, but I do regret challenging him at all. It was petty and childish and won't happen again._

_As for my leaving, you seemed preoccupied, so I thought it was best to stay out of your way. I was a little disappointed with who you chose to leave with, although I understand._

_Yours,_

_Harry_

After reading it over a few times, Harry sealed it and sent it to Oliver with his own owl and sagged into his chair. He knew the letter he replied with sounded abrupt and maybe even slightly bitter, but that's how he felt this morning. In the aftermath of his disjointed date with Oliver and his eruption with Malfoy, he didn't know how to feel any other way.

The morning seemed cluttered with errands, so many that he was easily able to push both men out of his mind until he had to show up at Draco's flat later that day. The peace of mind was nice, and Harry relished in his morning alone, even if he did have a million things to do.

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Draco lounged in his brightly lit breakfast nook and stared out at the people flagging his street. Any Muggle would be unaware of him watching, seeing only an empty window, and there were rarely more than Muggles who took this street. It was far enough away from the magical towns littering London and its outskirts that he felt a sense of privacy he wouldn't have if he'd purchased a flat in Diagon Alley or River Haven - a lesser known, more elite cluster of shops and housing located near London Bridge.

He could easily imagine Harry sitting there and taking tea with him, rolling his eyes as Draco gossiped about the garish outfits or exceeding the weight limit on a specific article of clothing. Harry would read the Quibbler, while Draco filled him in on what the Daily Prophet had to say, and they would eat fresh croissants and drink their tea and laugh and joke. At the same time, Draco tried his very damnedest not to think about Harry at all, least of all their fairytale life together, which would never and could never exist.

Not one, but two powerful spells were leveled against him, making sure he acted in Harry and Oliver's best interest, not his own. It was ridiculous that even after the cold shoulder he'd gotten the night before, Draco was still eager to see the brunet. Love seemed to have deprived him of every Slytherin skill of emotional avoidance he had learned over the years. Why did it have to be Potter who had this effect on him? Why did Potter have to be completely off limits?

An idea struck him, and Draco nearly smacked himself for not thinking of it before. If Harry could be golden matched to Oliver and pure matched to him, why couldn't Oliver be well matched with someone else? He'd seen it before. Some of his clients had three or even four good potential mates from his catalog of profiles. Usually Draco would stop when he found one, but ever once in a while, he would come across a very picky client who wanted options. Not everyone had more than one person they were destined to be with, but many people did.

The trick would be to find someone that was a golden match or better for Oliver and to throw that person in Wood's path. If the magic was being nitpicky, it might still punish him for his inadvertent part in the dissolve of Harry and Oliver's bond, but even if one or both of the spells chose to reap vengeance on him, it would still be a lesser problem than telling Harry outright that they were soul mates and demanding he ditch Wood right this very moment.

With renewed vigor in his step, Draco rushed to his study and pulled out the large stack of profiles he'd accumulated over the years and started the process of going through them, looking for a new match for Oliver so that Draco could have Harry all to himself.

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Harry made sure to show up early to his second meeting with Malfoy, both to try and make up for his bad mood the night before and to show the Slytherin that he was perfectly capable of being on time. All said and done, he managed to arrive on the blond's doorstep three minutes ahead of their noon appointment and he was quite proud of himself when he knocked.

Noon came and Harry was still standing on Draco's stoop after knocking four times. He was beginning to wonder if the man was purposefully refusing to answer the door as some sort of punishment. It might be justified, but that didn't mean Harry had to like it. In a fit of frustration at both himself and Draco, he decided to try the knob and found – quite pleasantly – that it was unlocked.

"Draco?" he called out, after pushing the door ajar just wide enough for him to see inside. All the lights were on, so Draco was either home, or terribly neglectful of his energy use. He thought the latter was rather unlikely, so he stepped further into the pristine flat. "Draco? Did you forget we had an appointment?" he tried. He figured if the blond was anywhere within earshot that he would hear the insult and come bustling into the room with his protests that Slytherins never forget.

Alas, no one answered.

Harry didn't know what to do. The polite Gryffindor in him wanted to just leave him a note and go back home, the sneaky Slytherin in him wanted to take the opportunity to wander Draco's flat and learn more about the elusive man, and the Auror in him worried that something was wrong and that Draco might need his help. In the end, his hero-complex won out and he shut the door softly behind him and started moving through the flat, going from room to room as he looked for any sign of a struggle or foul play.

Harry found him at last, but instead of seeing him lying in a pool of his own blood, or gagged and tied to a chair, he discovered him rather uneventfully poring through a stack of paperwork in his study. He was relieved the man was unharmed, though he had to quickly dispel all thoughts of the stunning blond tied up and at his mercy. By the time he'd rinsed all dirty thoughts from his mind, Draco still hadn't looked up or even noticed that he had company.

After clearing his throat rather dramatically, Harry laughed when Draco jumped clear out of his chair and nearly toppled over from the force of it. Even when Malfoy leveled him with a vicious glare, Harry could hardly contain his mirth. "Working on something more important than me?" Harry goaded, walking up to peer over the man's shoulder.

Draco quickly stuffed the paper back into a drawer - Harry felt sure it had been better organized before Harry startled him – and shot him a dirty look. "As if you're capable of thinking anything else is more important that you."

"Ouch." Harry didn't have to try hard for the look of pained offence he plastered on his face. After all these visits, Harry thought the blond knew him better than that. "I was only teasing, Malfoy. No need to get nasty."

Draco looked as though he had a malicious retort on the tip of his tongue, but a moment later he sighed and shook his head. "Sorry," he apologized, as if the words weren't completely foreign to him. "I'm just a little out of it today."

"Should we reschedule? I don't want to be a bother," Harry asked, though he honestly didn't want to go. Something about being around the Slytherin was soothing. Even when Draco was being a complete arse, he still seemed to exude this intoxicating charm that Harry found nearly irresistible, which was as good a reason as any to stop these meeting altogether and run to Oliver's arms, but Harry didn't think he could do that right now even if a Death Eater pressed a wand to his temple and ordered him to.

Draco looked so vulnerable sitting there at his wide, polished desk, his eyes haunted by whatever task he'd been absorbed in. Harry wanted to embrace the man, squeeze away all his worries.

"No, no," Draco replied at last, looking as though he was trying to ward off a terrible headache. "I was just a little preoccupied. We can go downstairs and get started now, if you'd like?"

Harry merely shrugged and held out his hand, which Malfoy took without any hesitation, and Harry led him down the stairs of his own home and into his own sitting room. "I should make us some tea," Harry offered. "Where would I find it?"

"Third cupboard on the right," Draco replied after shooting Harry a reluctant grin. He never thought he would miss having someone fuss over him, but listening to Harry putter about in his kitchen, fixing him tea to sooth away his worries, made Draco miss that very thing. He hadn't had anyone fix him a cup of tea since he was a small boy still living at the manor, unless you counted the baristas at the café, which he didn't. No one was paying Harry to make him tea. No one was forcing him to be generous and kind.

Did that prove that Harry was meant for him, or did it just illustrate the time-honored tradition of Gryffindors being the more loyal House?

Harry returned after a few minutes with two warm mugs of tea, and Draco accepted his with an equally warm smile. "Can I ask you something?" Draco was hesitant to mention the dilemma, knowing that both the spells he'd attached his life force to would prevent him from saying too much, but he thought that if he talked hypothetically, that it might work.

"Of course," Harry replied, as if it were silly for Draco to even feel the need to ask.

"Well, I have this client," Draco began, selecting each word carefully, "and I've recently discovered that they have more than one match available to them."

"You make it sound like that's a problem," Harry replied, taking deliberate sips of his tea.

"Well, you see, I'm trying to decide whether or not to tell the client," Draco replied. "They seem really happy in their current match, so would it make things worse if I told them about the other person, or would it be better to let them know all their options?"

"Well, how long have they been with the current match?" Harry asked, quite reasonably, Draco noted.

"Awhile," Draco answered vaguely. "Long enough that they seem pretty sure of one another."

"And are they a good match?" he asked, again managing to astound Draco with his logical questions.

"Almost the highest tier match one could be," Draco confirmed.

"I would leave it alone then," Harry replied. "It would only plant doubts in a mind that was already made up and happy in its decision, or so it sounds."

"Right," Draco sighed, slumping ever so slightly in his chair. "So if it was you, and you had another match out there, you'd rather just stay with Oliver?"

"That wasn't the answer you wanted," Harry said, and it was more of an observation than a question.

"Maybe not, but it was the right answer," Draco replied and tried his best to smile over at his friend, for that was all Harry could ever be to him. The answer had come straight out of the Gryffindors mouth. Profile after profile yielded no other match for Oliver, and Draco had nearly tried them all when Harry had come bursting in on his work. It was a last ditch effort to try and appeal to Harry directly, or as directly as possible under the circumstances.

"Is it me?" Harry asked rather sheepishly a moment later and Draco laughed.

"I thought you wouldn't want to know?" Draco challenged.

"I wouldn't," he replied, a firmness to his voice that let Draco know he wouldn't be bringing it up again. "So, what's today's lesson?"

"Well, did Oliver come back to your flat last night?" Draco asked, squelching the jealousy he felt rise up in his throat like bile.

"No," Harry replied, "but he sent me a letter this morning and I wrote back."

Harry explained what both letters said and all Draco could do was blink at him when he'd finished. "You berated him in your apology letter?"

"Well, not really," Harry replied, biting sharply into his bottom lip. "Sort of, I guess," he replied after a moment. "Do you think that's bad? Do you think Oliver's going to break up with me?"

"Over that?" Draco scoffed. "If he does, he never deserved you to begin with. He should understand that you're a bit blunt with your explanations, especially when it comes to your feelings."

"Hey, you make it sound like I'm some simpleton who is unable to be coy," Harry protested.

"You _are_ unable to be coy," Draco frowned, "but I wasn't posing it as a negative assessment. You know what you want and you're passionate about it. You don't like to waste time with games."

"No," Harry replied resolutely. "I don't."

"If I've observed it, Wood most likely has too, but it wouldn't hurt to be more tactful in future letters. Sending an owl gives you the time to think before you speak, something you aren't afforded very often, so take advantage of it," Draco reprimanded.

"I'll keep it in mind," Harry replied with a wry grin. "So, the lesson?" he prompted and Draco rolled his eyes.

"So impatient. You'd think you were trying to be rid of me," Draco mused.

"Not at all," Harry balked, a flush coloring his cheeks in a beautiful rosy color. "I just want to get my homework assignment out of the way so we can move on to more fun topics, like, what you were doing in your office earlier."

"None of your business, Potter," Draco grumbled and dropped his gaze down to his half full teacup.

"I'm just saying," Harry started, his tone full of teasing promise, "that you seemed so startled you would have thought I'd caught you wanking."

"You wish," Draco hissed. "Let's get on with the lesson, shall we?" He didn't like to think of what would have happened had Harry caught him with his pants down literally, when it would be bad enough if Harry were to find out he'd been up there scheming to break up his relationship with Oliver.

It didn't matter anymore though, because he was through. Was Harry potentially the ideal person for him to spend the rest of his life with? Maybe. Would telling him that make any difference? No. Harry was happy with Oliver, and if Draco was the soul mate his spell deemed him to be, than he could at the very least support his soul mate's happiness, even if it was with another man. Besides, who said soul mates couldn't just be really close friends? Maybe that was what the spell had meant all along.

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Draco seemed exceptionally distracted today. Harry tried not to assume that he was the cause of it, because Draco kept assuring him that wasn't the case, but he couldn't help but feel responsible. The Slytherin would pause meaningfully between every sentence, as if willing Harry to read between his lines of speech, but Harry couldn't grasp what the man was hinting at.

Still, he would relish in the warm smiles Draco rewarded him with when he asked a clever question and he found himself lost in the dulcet tones the man spoke in when telling Harry about the next step he'd mapped out. "It works out perfectly, actually," he said. "I couldn't have planned it better had I tried."

"What's that?" Harry asked, his brow knit tightly with confusion.

"Well, given the fact that you might have insulted Oliver with that letter, and you were a bit of an arse last night, it makes the next task fit right in," Draco mused, ignoring Harry's dirty look about his recent attitude.

"Are you actually going to tell me about it, or are you just going to hint at it all evening?" Harry grumbled.

"The next step is a romantic gesture," Draco told him. "Some sort of gift, or special act with Oliver in mind."

"Such as?" Harry asked.

"Maybe there is a restaurant that he likes but you don't," he mentioned, "you could take him there for dinner one night. Maybe there is a trinket he's been coveting, or a certain event he's wanted to go to-"

"Like a play or something?" Harry asked, his nose turned up slightly.

Draco rolled his eyes and gave a furtive smile. "Why is that so distasteful?" Draco asked.

"I just…I've never been to a ballet, or opera or anything like that," he admitted reluctantly.

"You live in London, the theatre capital of the world, and you've never seen a live performance?" he griped. "How is that possible?"

Harry shrugged and glanced down at his hands. He felt so inadequate all of a sudden until he realized it wasn't Malfoy that he was courting, but Oliver. Who cared if Malfoy thought he was just some uncultured Half-blood. He lifted his eyes and met Malfoy with a challenging gaze. "Just because you like that stuff, doesn't mean Oliver does."

"True, but even if Oliver doesn't appreciate the fine arts, doesn't mean you can't," Draco countered. "I'm taking you to see La bohème tomorrow night."

Harry blinked rapidly in response, unsure what to say or do. Was Malfoy asking him out on a date? Well, he didn't seem to be asking at all, more like demanding Harry's company. "I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Harry tried, but Draco brushed the statement off like lint from his coat.

"Nonsense," he replied. "Who knows, maybe Oliver likes the theatre. Wouldn't you feel silly if you couldn't offer any insight of your own on the subject?"

"Well, I suppose so," Harry murmured. He certainly felt silly now, so it was a safe assessment that he'd feel equally awkward broaching the subject with his boyfriend. Oliver traveled the world for Quidditch and Harry didn't really know what sort of things the man was into outside of the game. Perhaps Malfoy was right and Oliver fancied a trip to the theatre every now and again.

"Do you already have plans?" he pressed, refusing to relent on the subject.

"Well, no, not exactly," Harry replied, chewing on his bottom lip. Going to the opera with Draco seemed like a date. Would it feel like one too? Would Oliver think it seemed like a date were Harry to tell him about it? The blond seemed innocent enough, and they were friends. Was this the sort of things he would be required to do if he were to become better friends with the Slytherin?

"Then it's settled," he replied. "You'll love it, I promise."

"What happens if I don't?" Harry asked teasingly. Having the decision pulled from his hands was sort of refreshing. He didn't have to feel bad about cheating on Oliver, one, because he wasn't, he and Draco were just friends, and two; it wasn't as if this was his idea. Malfoy was making him go out on a romantic date with him. Harry shook his head and tried not to grin at his own thoughts. How did he get himself into these messes?

"Well, then I'll just have to cut you off then, won't I?" Draco quipped, but his smile never faded. "So, to recap, you need to choose a romantic gift or give Oliver some token of your affection within the next week, and if you don't have nice dress robes, buy some tomorrow. You'll want to look nice for the theatre."

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," Harry laughed and got up from his chair, angling toward the door.

"I'll pick you up at seven," Draco told him before winking and shutting the door in his face. All Harry could do was stand on the stoop and shake his head, his ebony curls becoming damp in the gathering moisture from the coming rain. Tomorrow afternoon he'd go shopping for the perfect token of his affection for Oliver, and tomorrow night he'd go to the opera with Malfoy, strictly as friends of course. Harry reckoned he could use the occasion to run his gift idea by the blond, get the Malfoy seal of approval before sending it to Oliver. That would make it seem less like a date.

Because it certainly wasn't a date.

Author's Note: Nope. Not a date. How could it be a date? Just because they're going to a romantic Italian play? That's just silly.


	12. Tangled

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking this chapter over for me, and thanks to all who have reviewed so far!

Chapter 12 Tangled

Trying to navigate Diagon Alley on a Sunday so close to the Solstice was a terrible idea, but Harry was persistent in his task of finding the perfect gift for Oliver. His first stop was to Flourish and Blotts, but he quickly exited when he remembered that only Hermione truly enjoyed being gifted with books. He could imagine Oliver's falsified grin if Harry handed him one of those best selling detective novels or even a book about Quidditch. Besides, knowing Oliver, the man probably already owned all of those.

He didn't know the Keeper's measurements, or what colors he preferred to wear, so he skipped over Malkin's and Twilfit and Tattings. If he wanted to give Oliver a joke or a prank, he could just ask George, as awkward as that might be, but that wasn't the kind of message he wanted to send at all, neither was candy, or potions, or anything else he saw while strolling the cobbled streets of the little wizarding town.

It wasn't until he reluctantly entered Quality Quidditch, thinking that Oliver would surely have everything worth having in that shop, that Harry found it. After perusing rows of handsome gear, racks of custom accessories and memorabilia, Harry was about to leave the shop when he turned around and was met with the solution to his gift dilemma.

Rotating in a distant corner, a brilliant glow seeming to light it from within, was a broom, but not just any broom. No, this broom wasn't being released to the public yet, and even once it was, only twenty-five were being made. They were calling it the Stratus X, and it was the kind of broom that could induce an instant orgasm. That wasn't _actually_ a selling point, but it should have been according to the way Harry lovingly stroked the polished walnut handle and the platinum coated bristles. If he'd been alone, Harry might have licked it, but thankfully he refrained.

"Can I get this?" he asked the clerk when he heard the man come up behind him.

"The Stratus X?" he laughed. "I'm afraid not, only celebrities and –oh. Mr. Potter, terribly sorry, Sir. I didn't realize it was you," the man stammered, dropping into a low bow. Harry used the opportunity to roll his eyes while the man couldn't see his face and then made a quick, waving gesture to insist the man stand back up again. It was ridiculous the way some people still prostrated themselves at his feet even after all these years.

"So, I can purchase it?" Harry asked, trying to clarify what it seemed the salesman had been on about.

"Well, we don't have any here in stock, Sir, but I could have one sent to you straight away from the warehouse," he assured him. Dollar signs seemed to flash in the man's eyes – another reaction Harry was used to people having around him – and the man blurted out a figure. It was less than Harry had expected, but he didn't show his hand.

"How much to have it personalized?" Harry asked, pursing his lips as though he thought the price of the broom was preposterous as it was, which wasn't too far from the truth.

"I'll include it," the man said. "What would you like it to read? Your full name or initials?" Harry was already following the salesman to the counter as he fetched a notebook and quill.

"Not my name at all," Harry replied. "I'd like it to read 'Oliver Wood'."

"Oliver Woo-" the man stopped short, his eyes widening almost imperceptibly. "That's a very handsome gift, Sir."

"Is it?" Harry mused, not really caring what the clerk had to say on the matter. He knew by the way the man licked his lips, as if he'd just eaten a delicious meal, that it made no difference what Harry said now, the story of him and Wood as a couple was going to be front page news by morning. He hated the fact that he couldn't even shop for his boyfriend without it being everyone else's business.

The clerk seemed to sense Harry's annoyance and wisely finished writing up the sale. Harry paid the man and left without another word. It was to be delivered to his flat by the end of business, and Harry was giddy to wrap it and send it along to Oliver. He hoped his boyfriend liked the broom as much as he did.

On his way out of the shop, another item caught his eye, but he couldn't imagine Oliver wearing them, so he didn't know why he was attracted like a magnet to the leather gloves by the door. They were a deep, olive green, and they must have been turned that way by a dye that was almost metallic because they had a pearly sheen to them that Harry thought to be a bit feminine at first. But the cut of them eliminated that idea, as did the matte gray straps that wove around to create an interesting pattern that reminded Harry of storm clouds over a lush Irish grove.

Harry snapped them up and ran his fingertips over the supple leather before slipping them over his hands, flexing his fingers to get a feel for the fit. They were too tight for his hands, and he tried to think of who might like them before gasping at the revelation that he'd picked out the perfect gift for Draco Malfoy. He swiftly removed them, shoving them back onto the rack they had come from and stepped away, eyeing them as if they were poisonous.

"Mr. Potter? Can I help you with anything else?" the same clerk asked as he watched Harry's reaction to the gloves. The salesman picked them up and held them reverently. "These are our newest brand, Charmed to repel water and most common Hexes, all while maintaining a firm grip on one's shaft." The man smiled at his own joke, but Harry only swallowed thickly at the images it conjured, images of a certain blond wearing those gloves…and nothing else.

"They're very nice," Harry admitted and backed further away.

"Would you like me to ring them up and send them along with the broom?" he asked hopefully and Harry nearly shouted a refusal, but something stopped him. The next image to float unbidden to the forefront of his mind was Draco's smiling face as he opened a box and found those gloves inside. It was perfectly friendly to purchase gloves for someone. It didn't have to be romantic; it didn't have to _mean_ anything at all. Besides, Harry had yet to properly thank Draco for all his help over the last few weeks. The play he'd invited Harry to that evening was just another example of how the blond went above and beyond to keep his promise that he would do everything he could to get Harry and Oliver to the altar. Surely that was worth more than a pair of handsome gloves? "I could even have them embroidered to match the broom?" the clerk suggested, pulling Harry out of his inner turmoil.

"I'll take them," Harry replied, "but I don't need them altered. I'll just take them with me now." It was bad enough that the salesman was compelled to complicate Harry's life by telling the _Daily Prophet _about his gift for Oliver. The last thing he needed was to compound the issue by having Draco's name added to the article.

"Of course," he replied and smiled as he bustled over to the counter once more after collecting even more of Harry's Galleons.

Less than an hour later, Harry arrived back at his flat to find the broom elegantly packaged and sitting on his dining room table. The shop had spared no expense with the wrapping - a heavy platinum paper with embossed Golden Snitches that flew around the box in haphazard patterns – even the large, crimson bow was perfectly puffed and curled. A tag dangled from one edge of the box, with the Quality Quidditch logo on one side and a blank expanse on the other for Harry to write his own message.

Harry didn't know what to write just yet, so he left the task for later while he puttered about the house getting ready for his not-date with Malfoy. He still had to wrap the man's present and knew he stood no chance of making it look anything like the one the shop had wrapped for Oliver. Shaking his head, Harry headed up to his room to pick out robes for the theatre and pondered over what he would say on his note to Oliver.

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The ink had barely dried on his signature before the doorbell rang and Harry was face to face with a well-dressed blond. "Is that what you're wearing?" he asked as he scanned Harry's attire. Harry was only wearing pressed, gray trousers, and nothing else, so clearly the blond thought he was being funny.

The brunet simply rolled his eyes and ushered Draco inside. "No, of course not," he muttered and disappeared up the stairs, leaving Draco in the living room to stare after him. And stare he did. Draco took the opportunity to appreciate Harry's well-toned back and the way his hair curled a bit more than usual at the ends while the man fled up the stairs. Was it a good sign that Harry felt perfectly comfortable around him without his shirt on, or was it a bad sign? Perhaps it indicated that Harry considered him a trustworthy friend and was just as comfortable as he would have been showering together with Weasley after Quidditch practice. It certainly would explain why he'd only rolled his eyes, not even the barest flush to his cheeks, when Draco commented on his state of undress.

With a shrug, Draco turned away from the now empty staircase and his eyes landed on a shiny box in on the dining room table. The mysteries of Harry's thought processes couldn't possibly be unraveled in a lifetime, so he certainly wasn't going to figure it out tonight. He strode over to the box and inspected the tag. It was for Oliver, of course it was, and Draco tried to squelch and ignore the feeling of nausea that threatened to overtake him. It was his suggestion for Harry to get Oliver a gift, after all, and he had no business being jealous anyway.

_To: Oliver From: Harry_

_Please accept this as a token of my affection for you and my intentions to further this relationship_.

Draco groaned aloud at the bland words and tore the tag away. It sounded like something Potter would write on one of his official Ministry documents, not a love note to someone he cared about. He'd have to start looking over Potter's correspondences with Oliver over very closely if Harry stood a chance of not botching everything up. That was all he needed. It would be just his luck that after all of Draco's sacrifices, that Harry would ruin the whole thing with a shoddy letter and set the magic of the Unbreakable Vow upon his neck.

He found no fault with the packaging, and carefully lifted the box's top so that he could see what Harry had picked out for the man he was determined to marry one day. What met his eyes had them nearly bulging out of his head. He'd know the Stratus X anywhere, because he'd been coveting that broom for months. It was a tad extravagant for the gift Draco had in mind as this first token, but it was clearly thoughtfully chosen and Oliver would be daft not to understand how Harry felt about him after receiving this broom. It brought reality screeching to a halt just in front of Draco's vision, and he was unable to look away.

Harry was falling in love with Wood, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"How did I do?" Harry asked from the end of the stairs. He was fully clothed now, in perfectly tailored robes in a green so dark it bordered on black. Brighter green leaves wound up the sleeves and followed the hem, drawing attention up to the crisp gray shirt he wore underneath. When Draco raised a delicate eyebrow at the ensemble, Harry merely shrugged. "I thought I'd pretend to be Slytherin for the night," he teased.

"I see," Draco replied with a smirk. "Well, you're certainly handsome enough to be one of us, but I don't think there is a scheming bone in your body to back up the personality of a Slytherin.

A deep flush colored his cheeks, but Harry shook his head. "You might be surprised."

The words seemed to hold a promise that Draco could not discern, but he tried not to think on it too long. This wasn't his date, this wasn't a man he was trying to bed, this was his soul mate, and he was promised to another man. "Your package is exquisite," he remarked and laughed when Harry's eyes went wide and glanced down at his robes to make sure he'd buttoned and snapped everything properly. "The gift, Potter," he clarified and Harry blushed even darker.

"Right," he murmured. "It's okay then?"

"The note was rubbish, I threw it away, but the present is magnificent. I'm sure Oliver will cherish it," he replied.

Harry bit into his bottom lip and sighed. "I knew the note was bad. I had no idea what to say though," he admitted.

"You need to say what you feel," Draco pointed out. "What were you thinking of when you purchased it?"

"Well, Olli likes to fly, obviously," Harry murmured. "And he probably owns everything else at the bloody Quidditch store."

"Well, that's hardly eloquent," Draco quipped.

"I can't help it!" Harry shouted, throwing his hands up. "Maybe I'm just not romantic. Maybe that's been my problem all along."

Draco grabbed Harry's hand and twined his fingers through it, drawing the brunet's emerald gaze up to his own. "Stop chastising yourself," he whispered, "that's my job." That earned him a smile, but Draco wasn't finished. He needed Harry to see that he was perfectly capable of a romantic gesture, to show him that the words were there, but they were being shielded from him by his fear. "Think about Oliver and tell me what you feel."

Harry shut his eyes and let out a deep breath. "I care about him," he said. "He's funny, charming, handsome, clever."

"Okay, now think about yourself, and how you think those traits relate to you," Draco prompted, and to that request, Harry frowned.

"It doesn't relate. I have no idea what he thinks of me," Harry replied.

"You don't need to," Draco protested. "Okay, so let's just say that I was purchasing this gift for someone special to me," he began.

"Like who?" Harry interrupted, snapping his eyes open at the suggestion.

"Like…I don't know," Draco grumbled. "Like you, okay? Hypothetically speaking, of course," he added with a wink that made Harry roll his eyes again – a favored gesture of the Gryffindor. "So, I would think about what the broom symbolized, and then think of what that meant to me."

Harry ran his free hand through his wild mane and glared back at Draco. "So, what would you write?"

Draco gave an exasperated sigh and scribbled a note on a little sheet of paper he'd pulled from his pocket. It was the first thing that came to his mind when he pictured Harry soaring through the air on the same broom he'd gotten Oliver.

"You make me fly," Harry read and smiled softly. "Aw, who knew that deep down you're just a sentimental Hufflepuff?" he teased and Draco yanked the note out of his hand and stuffed it back into his pocket.

"If you're going to make fun of me, I'm not going to help you," Draco huffed and let Harry's hand drop so he could fold his arms petulantly across his chest.

"Don't be that way," Harry whined, clambering at Draco's hands, trying to get him to loosen up. "I was only teasing. I thought it was sweet," he assured the blond. "I would just melt if someone gave me a note like that."

"_After_ you made fun of them," Draco pointed out.

"No," Harry whispered. "I'm sorry. I was only joking with you because I knew you didn't mean it. It wasn't as if I was trying to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't," Draco replied, his face set with his trademark sneer. He turned away and headed for the door. "Are you ready to go? We're going to be late."

Harry sighed, unsure what he could do to make things better, and nodded. "Let me just get this on its way and I'll be ready. He scribbled Draco's note verbatim on a newly conjured tag and sent the heavy package off with his owl and a promise for double the treats when he returned. When he turned around to meet Draco at the door, he remembered why his robes were a bit heavy on one side and smiled, hoping it would fix the rift he'd caused between them.

"I almost forgot," he mentioned, and reached into his pocket for a thin, ebony box with a simple silver bow. "I got you something too."

"You what?" Draco asked, still sounding annoyed until his eyes landed on the tiny package in Harry's outstretched hand. "For me? Why?"

"I thought of you when I saw them," Harry admitted. "And I'd been wanting to thank you for all your help."

Draco hesitantly took the box and noticed a similar tag dangling from the bow. He looked down, expecting it to be just as protracted as the note to Oliver had been, but just stared at it in confusion.

_Draco,_

_I'm sure you'll agree that a Malfoy should never have calluses. _

_Harry_

It didn't make any sense until he opened the box to find the most spectacular pair of Quidditch gloves he'd ever set eyes on. "Harry, these are…." His voice trailed off and he couldn't find the words to explain how much he loved the gift, especially since he hadn't been expecting anything from the brunet at all.

"If you don't like them, I can exchange them for another pair," he replied hurriedly. "I mean, I just thought they were beautiful and they made me think of you instantly, and well, I hoped you would like them but if you don't-"

"Harry," Draco interrupted sharply, "you're babbling, and I love them, so stop."

"Oh," Harry replied and smiled. "I'm glad."

Draco had to stop looking into those gorgeous green eyes or else he was going to do something he'd regret, so reluctantly he held out his hand and clasped it around Harry's and pulled him to the door. "Come on, we'll be late if you hold us up with any more of your sappy Gryffindor moments."

Harry laughed and held onto Draco's hand tighter than he needed to for Side-Along Apparition, and he didn't let go until much later.

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The play had been surprisingly enjoyable. Draco had a private box, and he'd seen the play a few times before, so he didn't seem to mind explaining to Harry what the actors were singing about, or what was going on. Every time Draco would lean in, whether whispering about what Mimi was asking when she arrived at Rudolfo's door with an unlit candle, or commenting on the way Musetta was obviously still infatuated with Marchello, Harry would feel content and electrified all at once.

Several times throughout the night, he found himself trying to move closer to the blond, absorbing his scent and warmth. He knew it was wrong, and that knowledge was the only thing that halted him from pulling Draco's face to his and snogging the man senseless. Suddenly the box felt _too_ cozy, _too_ intimate, and Harry was worried that his Gryffindor morals would falter if he didn't reign in his lust for Malfoy.

But it wasn't for Malfoy, he reasoned. It was just that Harry had kept a purposeful distance away from anything physical with Oliver and his sexual frustration was merely willing to attack the most convenient outlet. At one point, he even tried to justify giving into his craving for Draco, figuring that would help him hold out for the right moment with Oliver instead of just grabbing the Keeper and having his way with him the next time they were alone together. But, he quickly dispelled the thought as poor advice being given by the little devil on his shoulder, which always seemed to speak for the brain inside his trousers.

Draco didn't seem to notice Harry's tenuous grip on his hormones. In fact, the man seemed only to want Harry to have a good time, which only made things worse. If only Draco had been rude, or moody or even mean, Harry could have easily doused the fire that was burning in his groin and remain impassive to Draco's presence.

When the play finally ended, Harry practically leapt out of his seat, but Draco was at his side within moments, his hand resting firmly at the small of Harry's back as they navigated through the exiting crowd. "Let me escort you home," Draco insisted when they made it back out into the cool night air.

"Oh, that's not necessary," Harry replied nervously, eager to get away before he did something foolish.

"Nonsense," Draco replied, and gripped Harry's waist possessively, before Apparating them both to Harry's doorstep. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Very much," Harry breathed, trying to squash the ill feeling he always got after Apparating. Draco's hand was a steadying presence and Harry found himself leaning into it. "You've really changed, Malfoy," Harry commented. "The man you choose to be with will be lucky indeed."

A smile quirked the edge of Draco's lips and he reached into his pocket to finger the gloves Harry had bought him. He couldn't deny his want for this messy-haired man that stood in front of him, but he had to. He certainly couldn't allow himself to lean in and capture those moist lips, but his mind and his body didn't seem to be communicating very well that evening, because that was precisely what he was doing.

And better yet, it seemed as though Harry was going to let him.

Those ebony lashes fluttered shut as Draco leaned in, tilting his head for the best angle to taste Harry thoroughly. His mind screamed at him to think of the consequences, but Draco could think of no better way to die than while kissing Harry's sweet mouth. In that moment, Draco didn't care if the magic caught him right there and struck him down.

But it wasn't dark magic that kept Draco from closing those last few inches and capturing Harry's waiting lips. It was the sound of someone clearing their throat sharply from a few paces away. Harry pulled back at once, looking both dazed and frightened as he took in the frowning face of his boyfriend, Oliver Wood, staring up at them with suspicious eyes.

Author's Note: My beta informs me that I'll be strung up for this cliffhanger, but really, what did you expect? On a separate note, I'm looking for an artist to pair with for a superhero Drarry project....if you or someone you know would be interested please email me. (address is on my profile)


	13. Beautiful Liar

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking this chapter over for me and thanks to all of you who have been reviewing so far! This story looks like it's going to be about 25 chapters, give or take chapter.

Chapter 13 Beautiful Liar

Harry swallowed thickly and looked down into the inquisitive face of his boyfriend, while his own face remained precariously close to Draco's. When he looked back up at Draco, the blond shot him a smile riddled with unfulfilled longing.

"No, I can't see anything in your eye, Potter. Just keep blinking and whatever it is should work its way out," he said, adopting a bland tone. Harry could see Oliver relax slightly, but only slightly. Harry still had plenty of explaining to do. Thankfully, the smooth blond seemed prepared to take care of it. "Wood," he greeted, offering his hand to Oliver, who shook it roughly and then strode to Harry's side. "How have you been? How's that boy, Logan, was it? The Seeker?"

"He's doing well," Oliver replied. "He's back on the pitch and practicing hard to make up for lost time."

"Excellent," he replied. "We ran into one another out at the theatre." Draco gestured to Harry standing there all clammed up and rolled his eyes. "He thought he'd had too much to drink to Apparate home."

"I didn't know you were going to the theatre," Oliver said, directing the comment to Harry, who winced and shrugged slightly.

Again, Draco swooped in without blinking. "It was a last minute decision. Clive invited him when one of our other friends backed out."

"Harry?" Oliver asked, suspicion clear in his tone.

"That's what happened. Clive Owled me a half-hour before the show," Harry confirmed, hating himself for the lie. Why did he have to lie anyway? Why couldn't he be sharing an innocent evening with his friend Draco? Oh right, because it wasn't innocent at all. Harry had been about to kiss the blond when fate intervened and put a stop to that madness. If he told Oliver what had really happened, Harry would be looking for a new boyfriend for certain.

"You should have told me, I love the theatre. What did you see?" Oliver asked, with less trepidation and more disappointment than before. Harry didn't like this development any better, but he supposed having Oliver moody over not being invited was better than having Oliver break up with him for cheating – not that he had, but he was on the verge. Even if his body hadn't strayed, his mind had.

"La Boheme. It was brilliant," he replied, trying to mask his guilt and swirling emotions. It took everything inside of him not to glance at Draco and see what the other man was thinking, but he managed.

"Oh, well, no loss I suppose. I've seen that one already," Oliver sighed and looked hesitantly from Draco to Harry, as if he didn't understand why the blond was still there at all.

"Do you want to come in?" Harry offered to the air, uncertain who he wanted to answer, which made him feel even worse.

"I was just making sure Potter got home safely, I'll leave you two alone," Draco interrupted and strolled down the sidewalk without a second glance in Harry's direction. The brunet flicked his eyes in the other man's direction and felt like rubbish for running him off in such a manner. It hardly seemed fair after the night they'd spent together and the way the blond had just bailed him out with Oliver, but deep down he knew it was for the best.

There was something between them, undeniable sparks, and that scared Harry as much as it thrilled him. His mind was muddled with confusion. He wanted Oliver, wanted a nice, happy life together, but something drew him to Draco as well, and there was no ignoring the fact that it wasn't just friendship that made him return to the man over and over, and as much as he wanted to deny it, it wasn't the program either.

"Harry?" Oliver whispered softly against the shell of the brunet's ear, startling him out of his troubled thoughts. "Are we going inside?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, a little too loudly. "Of course." He dug into his robes and produced a set of keys, but his shaking fingers dropped them three times before he managed to get the door unlocked. Oliver followed him in without a word and Harry moved to the kitchen to make them a pot of tea.

"So, what was Malfoy really doing on your doorstep tonight?" Oliver asked, leaning casually against the frame of the kitchen doorway as he watched Harry work. It was all Harry could do not to drop the kettle and send scalding water all over the floor, but he knew better than to turn and meet Oliver's probing gaze.

"What do you mean?" he asked, steadying his hand to pour the water.

"I mean, it's rather obvious the bloke fancies you, so what was he doing here?" Oliver rephrased.

"Malfoy doesn't fancy me," Harry laughed, though it was forced even to his own ears.

"Get off it, Harry. He'd be an idiot _not_ to fancy you. What I'm asking is if the feeling is mutual?"

"It's not," Harry replied calmly, turning to meet Oliver's eyes at last. He didn't have to lie to say that, because the feeling wasn't mutual. Harry was confused, but he was certain that the blond didn't think of him in any kind of long-term way. Harry had seen a side of Draco he hadn't expected to in the previous weeks, but there was still nothing to indicate that he wanted anything permanent out of Harry. Besides, Oliver was his perfect match, Draco had told him as much.

Oliver's smile warmed and he shook his head, laughing at himself. "I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to be so persistent. It's just, after the thing with Logan…I was wondering if you were trying to get me back."

Harry rolled his eyes and dropped the mesh tea balls into both their cups and handed one over to his boyfriend. "I didn't mean to be a prat about Logan. I'm sure he's a very nice guy, I just…I didn't like the way he was looking at my boyfriend," Harry told him with a wry smile.

Setting his tea down on the counter nearby, Oliver closed the gap between he and Harry, wrapping his arms around the other man's waist. "I like the sound of that," he whispered.

"The sound of what?" Harry rasped, lost in the warm embrace of the Scot holding him tightly.

"Boyfriend." Oliver's dark eyes were blazing with fire, answering the lust that stirred immediately within Harry as he stared into that piercing gaze, and those sweet looking lips. Harry wanted to kiss him, in fact, he wanted to snog the hell out of him, but Draco hadn't told him where in the program that would fall. Was it even one of the steps? Would Harry be messing things up and skipping ahead if he kissed Oliver now? Or had Draco been assuming that they had already taken that step? The man had sounded relieved when Harry told him that he hadn't kissed Oliver on their second date, so Harry could only assume that meant he had advice for that as well, so he took a reluctant step back and hoped Oliver wouldn't freak out and leave.

"Did you get my package?" Harry asked breathily, hoping the change of subject might distract Oliver from his mouth.

"I did," his boyfriend replied, seeming to catch Harry's queue and took a step back as well, picking up his tea to use as a buffer between them. It injured Harry to see the regret in the other man's eyes, but he had to admit, his heart swelled to see that Oliver wasn't going to make a big scene and demand they move too quickly. He'd taken Harry's earlier confession of fear very seriously, it seemed. "It was magnificent, Harry. Too much, really."

"It wasn't too much," Harry insisted. "It was just right. I knew it was perfect for you the moment I saw it."

"Is that because it had my name on it?" Oliver teased, the tension melting from his dark eyes as they grew comfortable around each other again.

"Well, that might have had a little to do with it," Harry admitted sarcastically. "I knew that out of everyone I know, _you_ would get the most use out of it."

Oliver winced and nodded. "Well, I'm not permitted to use a non-regulation broom in play or practice, but I'm sure I'll still get to fly with it plenty."

"Right," Harry sighed, trying to mask his disappointment. Oliver probably didn't do much flying at all outside of Quidditch, so the broom would probably begin gathering dust in the man's closet, but that was Harry's own fault for not thinking it through. He should have known the rules of the sport before he went about buying extravagant Quidditch gear. "I should have thought of that."

"No, Harry," he insisted, pulling him into a hug. "I love it, I truly do. I think you're the sweetest boyfriend in the world."

Harry smiled despite himself and pressed a kiss into Oliver's neck. "You're right. The title does sound nice."

Oliver's arms tightened around him and Harry could feel the man's breath ruffling his hair. This was the way it was supposed to be, with Harry feeling warm and content and loved. Bringing their tea, Harry pulled Oliver into the living room where they snuggled up on the sofa listening to hauntingly beautiful piano music over the wireless. It wasn't long before Harry's eyelids grew heavy and he was falling asleep, held tightly in his boyfriend's arms.

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Draco, however, spent the evening alone, poring over his books and papers. He was contemplating the magic involved in his work and in the Unforgivable Vow he'd made with Harry. The magicks used were both very similar to one another and very different all at once.

Both spells created a contract of sorts, a binding agreement between the spell and the person assigned to it. In the case of the _Amavi Compositus_ spell, Draco had formed a contract between Harry and Oliver with Harry's permission alone. Now, no one, including himself, could interfere with the relationship unless either Oliver or Harry broke the spells agreement in a way that satisfied the magicks, and there were only a few ways to achieve that.

The most obvious would be for Harry and Oliver to mutually part, thus ending their commitment to the end result of marriage. The spell would recognize the shift and a new contract could then be made, meaning, one with Draco. The blond shook his head at the thought, flicking his quill with irritation as he scribbled notes in the margin of his book. He smirked to himself as he thought of Hermione catching him defiling the pages in such a manner. She would surely lose her mind with fury and indignation.

Harry showed plenty of signs of fondness for Draco, but he hadn't displayed anything negative towards Oliver, so he thought it was unlikely that Harry would break things off with his Keeper boyfriend. He hadn't seen much of Oliver and Harry together, but he suspected the same was true on that side as well. They were Golden Matches after all. Now that they were together, they would strive to remain that way. Draco had seen it a hundred times before; once a Golden Match finds one another, they are nearly inseparable.

Still, the fact that he was Harry's soul mate should count for something. But that was hindered by the fact that not only had the magicks created the contract between Harry and Oliver first, and anyone – including Draco – that tried to interfere would be punished severely, but he'd compounded the problem by swearing an Unbreakable Vow that he would do what was in his power to make the match a success.

If he had kissed Harry that night, he didn't know what would have happened, but he knew it would have been bad. It was probably good that Oliver had interrupted them when he had, but he couldn't help cursing the man's very existence nonetheless. Still, it was his own fault that Oliver was in the picture at all. Had Draco not been so eager to fetch a celebrity client, he wouldn't have bothered with Potter and Wood, or if he'd been clever enough to sense the root of his feelings for Harry that night he kissed him in the cellar, he would have matched himself against Harry long before Wood had a chance to grab hold of Harry's heart.

If he'd succeeded in capturing Harry's attention that first night, all Draco had been expecting was simply a night of great sex, or maybe even a fun fling. Instead, the man turned out to be his love of all loves. He had bad instincts, and poor timing and Draco growled through gritted teeth at his rotten luck.

Finding no answers or good solutions, he fell asleep at his desk that night to turbulent dreams of a very unattainable man with thick, ebony locks and haunting green eyes.

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A straining ache ran up the length of Harry's neck when he woke up, and the room was far too bright. He blinked his eyes, rubbing them with the heel of his palm, and then looked around him, noting that he was definitely not in his bedroom. A thick, yellow afghan was pulled up to his ribs, and his feet were dangling off the edge of his sofa and he realized with a start that he'd fallen asleep there with Oliver the night before.

He quickly checked his face for drying drool and tried to orient his hair in a sexy manner, rather than the tragic bed-head he usually woke up with, before casting his gaze about the room to see where Oliver was. What he found instead was a cup of hot tea under a stasis spell and a note. With a sigh, Harry slumped back into the folds of the sofa and stared at the steaming liquid. It was still early and already Oliver was gone for the day. Harry had to work, but he would have liked waking up in his boyfriend's arms. He supposed there was still plenty of time for that though, and reached for the note.

_Harry,_

_Sorry to have to skip away so early, but I have to get Logan caught up on the time he missed while in Hospital. I would have woken you but you looked so cute that I couldn't possibly have disturbed you. I've left you a ticket to my private box for the first game here at the Puddlemere stadium this Thursday. I hope you can make it. I'll probably be out of touch before then with our practice schedule the way it is, but I'll do my best to Owl you whenever I can. _

_Yours,_

_Olli_

_P.S. I see the press has finally caught on to our new status. I'll be curious to know how long it will take before they're asking us for a wedding date._

Harry might have taken those final lines as an ominous tone, but he'd ended the letter with a smudgy heart that made Harry grin like a loon. He reached for the paper beside his tea and sure enough, there were pictures of he and Wood – separately for now, but that wouldn't last long – on the cover along with a photo of the clerk from Quality Quidditch. As Harry had predicted, the salesman had wasted no time before recounting the tale of Harry's purchase to the _Daily Prophet_ along with his own theories as to the nature of the gift. Rita Skeeter needed no help in the wild theory department, however, and was already calling it an engagement present.

As irked as Harry was by the invasion into his personal life, he had to admit that Oliver's reaction had been quite pleasurable. They'd talked about marriage and children before, and on both counts Oliver's response had been favorable. The Quidditch star seemed to be on the same page as Harry so far as life plans, and it soothed Harry to learn this. He'd known that they were a good match, simply because of Draco's instrumental assistance and advice. Still, it was nice to see with his own two eyes that Oliver was perfect for him instead of merely relying on Draco's insistence.

Harry remembered the Vow each of them made at Harry's first visit and a sick feeling washed over him. Draco had wanted to use Harry and Oliver as the new poster boys' for his matchmaking services. Harry had agreed, but wondered what Draco was playing at now? Were the lingering touches and casual flirtations more than just the way Draco acted with everyone? Was it a test of some sort? Was it part of the ten-step program? It would certainly be a good one, if so. Let's play 'See if you can resist the stunning, blond lothario'! If it was a test, Harry was probably failing already.

He finished his tea and got ready for work, trying his best not to think about Draco Malfoy as he did. Part of him just wanted to confront the blond once and for all and demand answers. Did Draco honestly fancy him, or was this just a big game to him? Avoidance of the issue altogether seemed more appealing when he realized that either answer would only serve to bring about a new set of problems. If Draco really _did_ like him, than that meant Harry was in a precarious place. Harry would have to end his meetings with the man and probably stop seeing him altogether. It would be the right thing to do since Harry was set on Oliver. Why would he give up his perfect match for a fling with Draco? As delicious as the idea sounded, it just didn't make sense. Why Draco would pursue someone he wasn't matched with was beyond Harry's comprehension. Harry was tired of relationships that led nowhere. He knew exactly what he wanted and didn't relish wasting his time on something that would never work out. All of his friends had been married for years and Harry just wanted a slice of comfortable companionship of his own.

If Draco was just playing games with Harry, he didn't know what he would do. Harry's affection for the blond was honest, so if he found out that Draco's was not, he didn't think he could help but feel rejected – even though he knew that he had no right to feel that way. It would make things between them uncomfortable, and would again, probably lead to him ending his sessions and tenuous friendship with Draco, all things Harry really didn't want to do. Loath as he was to admit it, Harry thoroughly enjoyed Draco's company and didn't want their meetings to come to an end, which meant, he had to remain silent. It didn't matter what the man's answer was, Harry was meant to marry Oliver, but he hoped to hold onto Draco at the same time.

Ignoring whatever it was that hung between them seemed to be the only way to achieve that.

Author's Note: So, we've moved from Oblivious Harry to Avoidance Harry. How many stages until we get Acceptance Harry do you think?


	14. Numb

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work, and thanks to all who have reviewed this story so far! You all make my day!

Chapter 14 Numb

Draco hadn't been sleeping well, and he knew exactly why.

It could be explained easily enough by any number of things, such as the fact he was falling helplessly in love with a man who only had eyes for another, but Draco knew better. He wasn't able to sleep because the magicks were angry with him, and they were keeping him awake. It might have seemed like a silly coincidence except for that when he _did_ sleep, his dreams were filled with the image of Harry placing flowers on his tombstone. Morbid, yes. Scary, of course, but the worst part was that Draco knew that these weren't dreams at all, but premonitions – images of exactly what would happen to him if he continued this foolish path with Harry.

He'd almost kissed the man, almost broken two unforgivably powerful spells with one single gesture that Harry would have likely punched him for. But he'd seemed to want it at the time….

Draco shook his head. No. He couldn't go down that road again. It didn't matter if Harry had wanted to kiss him in that moment, because the Gryffindor would have hated him for it in the very next. He would have labeled Draco the villain for ruining his relationship with Oliver, and then the magicks would have sought Draco out and murdered him in a very slow and painful way.

Proof of that was plastered all over the front of every newspaper and magazine in Europe, featuring the smiling, happy faces of Oliver and Harry. Soon enough, those same papers would hold the announcement of the couple's engagement. That was what Harry wanted, what the man craved and what Draco had promised to deliver.

It was ridiculous to even dwell on it, and even more ridiculous to have told Clive his every frustration over a bottle of wine. His Slytherin friend didn't know about Draco being Harry's soul mate, but he did tell Clive about being Harry's second match.

"Did _I_ have another match?" the man asked, and Draco merely shrugged.

"Not that I'm aware of," he replied, "but it's not an uncommon thing."

"What about Gin?" he inquired and Draco shot him a wry grin.

"Worried someone else could have been buggering your wife?" Draco teased, but his friend merely pursed his lips and shook his head.

"She's an unpretentious pureblood with the perfect genetics to breed dozens of heirs, and to top that all off, she's the Chosen One's ex girlfriend. Who wouldn't want that as their ever-after?" the man reasoned but Draco saw straight through Clive's words. He knew, probably better than anyone, that his best friend was head over heels in love with his wife, and it had nothing to do with her perfect uterus or her pure blood.

"Once I matched you two, and saw the way you connected, I had no need to compare either of your profiles against any one else," Draco assured him. "So, if either of you have another match out there, it remains unknown."

"For the best, I'm sure," Clive whispered, no doubt thinking about Draco's precarious situation. "So, you matched yourself against Harry to prove that he _wasn't_ meant for you, and then he turned out to be your one and only? How tragically ironic."

"Get stuffed, Clive," Draco muttered. "It seemed like a perfectly good idea at the time, but now I can't get the sodding Gryffindor out of my head."

"Why don't you just tell him? Let Harry decide who he wants?" Clive suggested, but Draco shook his head.

"I asked if he would want to know if he had a second match, and he said he wouldn't, and anyway, he's already chosen Oliver. He chose him at the dinner party, he chose him on the Quidditch field and he chose him again Sunday night after the play. Besides, I don't even know if the magic would _let_ me tell him," Draco sighed.

"Harry's oblivious, Draco. You of all people should realize this," Clive explained. "You have to put aside your Slytherin tendencies and be direct with him, show him how you feel about him in a way that he can't possibly dispute and twist around in his head. Knowing Harry, he probably thinks you're trying to trick him with your flirtations."

"He couldn't possibly be that dense, could he?" Draco asked, but he already knew the answer, and Clive's patronizing gaze confirmed it for him. Yes, if Potter wanted to, he could thoroughly convince himself of just about anything. He was the epitome of a stubborn Gryffindor, and once he got it into his head that things were a certain way, it took nothing short of slamming the truth over his head like a brick to get him to think differently. Harry still thought he was the sneaky prat from Hogwarts, and even though that part of Draco still lurked inside of him, he was so much more than that now.

He would have to make Harry see that.

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The tickets to Oliver's Quidditch game tomorrow were taped to a photo of Harry, Ron and Hermione from their Hogwarts days. Harry could hardly believe what those three ragamuffin kids had morphed into after thirteen years, but here they were, all three of them having turned thirty that year, and all of them were happy – Harry included for a change.

Harry was excited about watching Oliver play, something he hadn't done since he stopped going to every Quidditch match in his early twenties. It made it that much better that now, when Harry cheered the team on, he'd be rooting for his boyfriend and not just some random Keeper. Things seemed to be falling into place for both of them, but Harry just had one final issue to settle, and that was Malfoy. Even after spending a terrific evening with Oliver, the blond still lingered in his thoughts and gnawed at his subconscious until Harry was riddled with guilt.

After worrying over it all week, Harry decided that the reason he was still so attracted to Draco, was because they had developed a physical connection where he and Oliver had not. It wasn't Oliver's fault of course - the man had made it clear that he was ready to move things forward where that was concerned - but Harry had shied away from it because of the program. He needed to follow Draco's steps and advice, because the man hadn't led him astray so far, but he also needed to rush things along because he and Oliver were both growing impatient.

Which brought up another problem. Draco hadn't tried to contact him even _once_ since their non-date had ended abruptly Sunday night and Harry was growing antsy. He wanted to contact Draco himself, but every time he looked at a blank sheaf of parchment, he kept seeing the dejected look in Malfoy's eyes as the man walked away and he couldn't find the right words. It was silly, Harry knew, mostly because there was no reason for Draco to seem upset over Oliver showing up on Harry's doorstep, only…they'd been about to kiss.

Harry shook his head and admonished himself for thinking of that evening again. It was good that Oliver had shown up when he did. If Harry had kissed Draco, it would have ruined everything. Harry had been out of his mind with pent up sexual tension, and Draco had been the nearest outlet, that was all it was, and Harry would have regretted it for the rest of his life had he closed those last few inches and attacked Draco's perfect lips.

"Mail!" shouted a voice from the hall before a stack of letters came careening into his office to land haphazardly on his desk. Harry cursed and whipped out his wand to clean up the mess from his coffee being tipped over and muttered under his breath about the Ministry's capability to hire qualified mail clerks.

He flipped through the contents of the day's Owls and separated them into piles for vendor invoices, case related mail, personal and junk. The junk pile was the largest, as usual. There was only one personal note, so Harry opened it first, growing curious as he saw Clive's elegant scrawl.

_Harry,_

_I'm thrilled you could attend the play Sunday night, especially since the invitation had been so last minute. I trust my friend Draco did an adequate job of getting you home safely? Please tell me if he was in any way ungentlemanly and I'll ensure the proper recourse. _

_Yours truly,_

_Clive Harper_

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't seem to contain his soft laughter. The note was clearly nonsense, because Harry hadn't seen Clive at all that night. That had all been part of Draco's elaborate lie to Oliver, which Harry still felt like rubbish for. Still, he couldn't complain too much when the lie had gotten him out of boiling water with his boyfriend. It seemed the blond had gone to additional precautions to ensure the falsity of his words were never discovered.

Harry appreciated the lengths Draco had gone in order to cover their tracks, but the best part about the letter was that it finally gave Harry a reason to contact the blond without seeming like an insufferable bother. Without a moment's hesitation, Harry had a note scrawled and sent to the man's flat within minutes.

_Draco,_

_I got a letter from Clive this afternoon. You're very thorough. Floo me when you get the chance. I'd like to discuss our next meeting. _

_HJP_

It was simple and to the point, as Harry often was in his missives. Sending the letter off reminded him that just weeks ago he'd been corresponding with the blond over sausages and again, without fail, his lips curled into a smile at the thought. It didn't make sense to him why everything had been so easy with Draco. Harry often found himself craving the man's company, even when he was with Oliver, but he couldn't understand why. It was obvious that they had a connection, but he was matched with Oliver, and the way Draco explained the spells he used to determine the match, Harry and Oliver were nearly perfectly compatible. So then why did he sometimes feel as though it was Draco he was courting and not his boyfriend?

The answer eluded him, so Harry tried to push the question out of his mind. Perhaps he'd just known Draco for longer, or maybe they had very similar sensibilities, or maybe it was just one of Draco's many talents to make his clients feel perfectly comfortable around him. Either way, Harry was sure that his attraction to the blond would fade as soon as he completed the program and took Oliver for his own, once and for all.

With this in mind, Harry fell into his work with mindless abandon. It was a slow field day, so he took the down time to catch up on all his paperwork, even though it was an excruciatingly dull task and he let his mind wander to other things, namely, the two men who constantly occupied his thoughts these days.

He'd skipped over lunch in his preoccupied state and when he looked up, he realized it was already half passed three and his stomach was rumbling. Harry got up, intent on tracking down a snack to tide him over until he could leave for the day, but discovered his arse was completely numb from sitting in the same spot for hours on end. He really needed to find a different office chair.

Rubbing at his arse cheeks with the palms of his hands - Harry had thought it was a good idea to try and dispel the pins and needles feeling that had crept into unwanted areas of his body - until a soft chuckle from the doorway had him blushing furiously as he realized how ridiculous he must look.

"Need some assistance with that, Potter?" Draco asked from the doorway, his elegant eyebrows poised in obvious amusement.

"Thanks, but no," Harry muttered and placed his hands securely in his pockets instead. "My arse had fallen asleep," he tried to explain, but stopped when it only seemed to fuel the blond's smile that much more. "What brings you here?"

"I got your letter," he replied, "and I was in the area."

"You could have just Flooed like I'd asked," Harry pointed out, still annoyed and embarrassed at having been caught in such a compromising position.

"And miss the sexy arse rub I got to witness? Never," he replied with a cheeky grin. Harry resisted rolling his eyes, but just barely. "Besides, you said you wanted to discuss our next meeting, and I thought it would be rather tiresome to sit on my knees that long in front of a fireplace when I could be doing so with a moaning bloke instead," he added with a wink.

"You're insufferable," Harry replied, but his had to fight back a laugh so as not to encourage the blond. "Do you actually pick up men with lines like those, or are you just testing it out for the first time?"

"I've bedded men with sillier tripe than that," he confessed, "but it's hardly fun if it's not a challenge."

Harry nodded, understanding flooding him completely. That was what he was to Draco. A challenge. Well, not anymore. "Well, you can save it for the whores you pick up in the pub, Malfoy. I'm not interested in your lines."

An almost imperceptible wince flew across Draco's features, but he nodded and took a step closer to Harry in the next moment, crushing any resolve that Harry had built up in the last few minutes. "What is it that you want from me, Harry?" he whispered, when he was so close that Harry could feel his breath, warm and fragrant, against his lips.

Everything. Nothing. Both seemed like excellent answers right that second, but Harry couldn't seem to utter a word with the intoxicating blond so close.

"Clive said I should tell you everything," he continued when Harry remained mute. "Should I, Harry? Should I bear my soul to you?"

Harry's eyelids fluttered and drooped, and his throat produced a soft moan at the words, so erotic sounding from Draco's purring mouth. He started to say yes, began to plead with Draco to tell him anything, everything, but his mind screamed at him to stop being bowled over by Malfoy's games and his eyes snapped open and his feet carried him backwards.

"I don't need to know your soul, Malfoy. We have a contract, a business deal together, that's all. At most we're friends, but even that is balancing on a thin strand if you think you can continue to boldly proposition me without consequence," Harry huffed, glaring up at the man, who had turned back into his usual, stoic self.

Harry knew that meant he had hurt Draco's feelings, and that knowledge dug deep within his chest and stabbed straight into his heart, but he couldn't make himself listen to that stabbing pain. He was a Gryffindor, of course he didn't enjoy hurting people, but something had to be said, because Draco was taking things too far now. Malfoy was using himself as a tantalizing morsel to steer Harry away from his true path, and it wasn't right. Especially not when the man had committed to help Harry win Oliver.

"I'll do my best to try and resist your charm, Potter," Draco replied sarcastically. "I apologize if I've offended you with my overt flirtations. Though, you should know that I do not think you're just another notch."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm sure," he scoffed, but Draco's haughty glare stopped him in his tracks.

"You're foolish if you think this is just a game to me, Potter," Draco continued. The words soul mate were on the tip of his tongue, but the magic clamped around his throat and squeezed, taking the breath he would have used to speak the title.

"Yes, well, you spend an awful lot of time calling me a fool, but what else am I to think?" Harry pressed. "If you want me to see you in a different light, make your intentions plain," he insisted, and even Harry didn't understand what he meant when he pleaded for the blond to be clear. He couldn't acknowledge the feeling that chewed at his heart, begging Draco to tell him something that would make a difference. He didn't realize it at the time, but he desperately wanted Draco to confess to having the same affection Harry felt.

The problem was, Draco wasn't allowed to.

He just stood there, his face turning red with the effort to simply tell Harry that he was in love with him, that he belonged to him, heart, body and soul, but the words remained frustratingly out of reach and eventually Harry sagged and nodded. "I thought not," he whispered and turned away so as not to show how hurt he was by Draco's silence. "Look," he said, upon turning around to face Draco once more. "How about we just start fresh, hm? Do you have time to meet with me this week for another session?"

"Tomorrow night?" Draco suggested with a rasp as the magic let go of him, but Harry shook his head.

"I have plans with Oliver," he confessed, determined not to make his voice sound disappointed.

"How about tonight then," he offered and Harry nodded.

"Tonight is fine. I can come by your place after work," he suggested and Draco turned away with a curt nod.

"As you wish," he replied over his shoulder.

Harry stopped him just before he was out the door, his hand wrapped firmly around Draco's pale wrist. "Listen, Draco," he began, swallowing down the shiver that ran through him from the contact with the blond's skin, "I know I'm probably a difficult client." He ignored the look that Draco gave him, clearly saying that Harry would get no argument from him, and pressed on. "But, I like you, and I really do appreciate everything you're doing for me."

Draco just stared down at him with an exasperated sigh. How could this man, this stubbornly blind Gryffindor, keep pulling him back? Why could Draco never stay angry with him? Right. Soul Mates. The term was beginning to sound more like a curse the longer it whispered through his mind. "It's all part of the job, Potter," he replied curtly, though the words lacked the venom they would have held for anyone else.

"I find it hard to believe that you pay such careful attention to all your clients, Malfoy," Harry rejected.

"Well, the Savior of the Wizarding World is special, after all," Draco replied, knowing the words would injure Harry as much as Draco himself was currently hurting. True to form, Harry cringed at the title but it didn't make Draco feel any better. It only made his pain sharpen and burn.

"Fair enough," Harry sighed and let go of Draco's wrist.

"I'll see you tonight," Draco whispered, disappearing from the room before he could say anything else that might forever haunt his nightmares.

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Author's Note: Oh, they hurt each other so deeply. Silly boys. Harry's sort of coming around, but now that Draco's broken through Harry's oblivious nature, he'd better watch out for those magicks….


	15. Hands On Professor

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for the beta and thanks to all who have reviewed this story so far. The feedback on this one has been phenomenal!! Thanks so much! Okay, so this is the chapter you've all been waiting for. Are you ready?

Chapter 15 Hands On Professor

Harry knew he had promised Draco that he would come right over after he left the office, but he couldn't see the man in his current state. His mind was whirling with mixed messages from the blond, and aching with the fact that he knew it shouldn't even matter. He wasn't dating Draco. It shouldn't make any difference to him that the Slytherin was being flirtatious one moment and a world-class git the next. Harry was with Oliver, and they were growing closer every day, and there was no reason that the blond should still be lodged in his head the way he was.

Except, if he allowed himself to consider it too long, he'd realize his feelings for Draco ran deeper than his feelings for Oliver.

In the next moment, Harry reminded himself that if that were true, that it was all his fault. Sure, Oliver was spending a lot of time traveling and training, but Harry could make the effort to visit him out at the Puddlemere pitch, or insist on a bit more time alone with the man and he hadn't done any of that. Instead, he'd contented himself with Draco's company and allowed himself to grow closer to the Slytherin instead of his own boyfriend.

And clearly Draco was a smooth flirt, but Harry didn't have to encourage it the way he knew he sometimes did. He liked that Draco found him attractive, and that, had they met a few years ago, before Harry had been repeatedly burned by terrible boyfriends, and before he learned what he truly wanted in life, Harry would have enjoyed trying to date Draco. They certainly had more in common than Harry could have ever expected, their time together was always entertaining, and there was no denying the sexual tension between them. Draco most likely took the starring role of many a wet dream for half the city of London.

But just when Harry had been willing to entertain the idea that Draco wanted more from him than just a heated shag, the blond had denied it with silence.

Harry had no idea what he would have done if Draco had confessed to wanting something more. Just that morning, he'd been resolute in his decision to avoid the topic altogether, but with Draco standing there today, those piercing mercurial eyes boring into him, suddenly he'd needed to know. The worst part of it was, Harry had known in that moment, that had Draco confessed to wanting him, _honestly_ wanting him, he would have given in and issued Oliver a solemn goodbye.

But Draco's silence had spoken volumes to Harry and made the Gryffindor feel like the fool Draco was always calling him.

As it was, when Harry finally felt he'd put enough of a dent in his workload for the day, he couldn't bear to see the smug, cold face Draco had left his office with just hours before, but he hated to cancel the meeting. At least now that he knew the truth, he could push the traitorous thoughts from his mind and focus on Oliver, who was the one who wanted a life with him.

Harry gathered his things and left the Ministry building, and even as he entered the alley to the nearest Apparition point, he still wasn't certain where he was going. Home, Draco's…neither sounded very promising.

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Hermione wasn't alone, as Harry had hoped she would be when he arrived at the doorway to her office. As before, she was entertaining both Luna and Ginny over tea, and the three women eyed him hungrily as if he was the latest issue of _Witch Weekly_ for them to gossip over. He sighed and put on his bravest smile and entered the den of the beast. They'd already seen him, so there was no backing out now. If he could face Voldemort, surely he could withstand the probing questions of three childhood friends, but he worried about the truth of that statement the moment he sat down.

"Harry," Hermione greeted serenely. "What brings you here?"

"I just needed to get away for a bit," he admitted. Luna passed him a teacup and Harry took it gratefully, letting the warmth of the porcelain against his hands soothe away his troubles.

"Trouble with Oliver?" Ginny asked, all too brightly, but her smile fell the moment he shook his head.

"Not really. Oliver's great," he replied, but all three women honed in on the fact that he ended the sentence before he'd said everything.

"What's bothering you, Harry?" Hermione asked, her hand falling to his knee. "Is it Logan?"

Harry blinked for a moment before the words began to make sense to him. He'd nearly forgotten about Logan with everything between he and Draco. "No, there isn't anything between Oliver and Logan, no matter what Logan wants."

"How do you know?" Ginny prodded.

"Well, for one, he told me," Harry replied, snapping a bit more than usual. "And I trust Olli. I know he wouldn't carry on with someone else behind my back." Which only served to make Harry feel guiltier because he thought that was exactly what he'd been doing to Oliver with Draco. Not that anything had happened. Yet.

"Well, if Clive had some other woman gazing at him the way Logan does with Oliver, I would be livid," she pointed out.

"Oliver can't help it if someone else fancies him," Harry rebuked. "He's a celebrity Quidditch player, after all, and he's quite handsome."

"That's true enough," Ginny admitted. "Besides, I'm sure he was fine about seeing you and Draco together Sunday night."

Harry's jaw dropped in answer, but he only spared a moment wondering about how Ginny knew about that. Clive must have told her, of course. For a Slytherin, the man was rubbish at secret keeping. "He was concerned, but not overly so. It wasn't as if anything happened," he added defensively.

Ginny quirked an eyebrow and shot Harry a crooked grin. "I hadn't suggested that something _had_ happened, but you seem rather nervous, Harry."

"I'm not nervous," he bit out. "I just don't understand why I'm getting the third degree when I haven't done anything wrong."

"Because you're acting guilty," Ginny said silkily. "What happened with you and Draco? It's not as though you have to worry about us running and blabbing to Oliver."

"We're your friends, Harry. If you can't talk to us, who can you talk to?" Hermione added.

Harry sighed and eyed the Spanish Inquisition warily. "Why aren't you piping in, Luna?"

The blonde shrugged dreamily and sipped her tea. "I'd prefer you not cheat on Oliver, Harry, but I can't deny that Draco would be hard to resist," she replied after a long moment.

"Nothing happened," Harry repeated through gritted teeth.

"So, then what _almost_ happened?" Ginny asked, sensing the cause for Harry's tension.

"I don't have time for this," Harry replied, standing up and setting his tea on the table. "I'm supposed to be meeting with Malfoy, and I was hoping to relax before that, but I just feel more wound up. Thanks," he huffed sarcastically and made his way to the door.

"Harry!" Hermione called out after him and followed him through the door and into the hall. "Ignore them," she whispered as he pulled Harry away from her office and the snickering women. "Something's really bothering you, isn't it?"

Harry sagged against the wall and let his breath out in a violent whoosh. "I'm so confused, Mi," he admitted at last. "I really like Oliver, I can see us together forever, but Draco…."

Hermione smiled at the easy use of Malfoy's given name and placed a warm hand on her friend's shoulder. "Harry, you know that no matter what you decide to do with your life, your friends will still love you. None of us hold any animosity toward Draco, and we want you to be happy."

"Oliver makes me happy," Harry pointed out. "Draco makes me crazy!"

"Crazy how?" she asked.

"Like my body is on fire and my mind has turned against me, crazy," Harry explained. "He's sweet one minute, a prat the next. He's far more attentive than I'd bet he was with you and Neville, but at the same time he denies that there is anything between us and he's still helping me to court Oliver. What am I supposed to think?"

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and absorbed Harry's frantic state. Maybe trying to push Harry and Draco together was a bad idea. She'd honestly thought that the two would be ideal together, especially after hearing Ginny's news about them being matched as well, but if he was hurting Harry this bad with his indecision, perhaps it was folly to think they could work things out. Hermione thought that Draco had grown up more than this, that he was ready to settle down, but she must have been mistaken. It looked like he was up to his same old games with her friend and she felt guilty for having encouraged it. "I don't know, Harry. I'm so sorry. Maybe you should tell him how you're feeling?"

"I did!" he exclaimed. "He was going to kiss me Sunday night, Mi. Kiss me! And you know what's worse?" he nearly shouted, his voice echoing through the hall. "I was going to let him. I was going to stand there and cheat on Olli, because I like him, Mione. I like him so much," he sighed, the wind knocked out of him. "But then today, I asked him if he wanted more from me, if he wanted a relationship, and he was silent. Not a bloody word," he breathed, letting the hurt of that moment wash over him before he quickly dispelled it and pulled himself up to his full height again.

Hermione's chocolate brown eyes had taken on an angry glint and she stared fiercely back at Harry. "Just ignore him, Harry," she advised firmly, knowing that Ginny would be snarling mad for losing the wager they'd made. This was larger than that though. She only made that bet when she thought it would help Harry to think about Draco, not hurt him. "I thought he was done playing games, but apparently he's not. I'm sorry, Harry. I really am. I never should have even put the idea in your head."

"It's not your fault," Harry replied with a heavy sigh. "I shouldn't have given into him in the first place. I shouldn't have let him get to me. I know better."

Hermione pulled Harry into a suffocating hug, and Harry let her, knowing that no matter what happened with Draco, or with Oliver, he still had people in his life that loved him, so all was not lost. It gave him the strength to face Draco, the power he would need to resist the man's confusing advances, which is what he had hoped to take away from this meeting. "Thanks, Mione," he sighed into her hair as he pulled away. "Thanks for chasing me down."

"Anytime, Harry. Anytime," she beamed.

She walked him to the gates with idle chat about Neville's newest botanical creation. Something about crossing a pumpkin with a Venus fly trap that sounded rather terrifying to Harry, but apparently Neville was quite excited. They parted ways with one last hug and Harry Apparated to the street outside Malfoy's flat, wondering if he would be grilled for being late.

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Draco was watching Harry standing on his doorstep through his dining room window. The Gryffindor kept raising his hand to knock, only to let it fall before his knuckles touched the wood, and then he'd shift back and forth on the balls of his feet before starting the process all over again. Draco tried to find it annoying, but the only words that accompanied the nervous gestures were phrases like 'adorable' and 'cute'. It was infuriating.

He'd plastered every corner of his house with the images of Harry and Oliver that had been printed in the various wizarding papers and magazines. He hoped they would serve as a constant reminder of his obligations to the magic and might help to balance his out of control longing for the messy haired Gryffindor.

It had been working all afternoon, Draco hadn't had a single inappropriate thought, but then the man showed up on his doorstep and the newspaper clippings might as well have been cake recipes for all the good they did him to keep his mind off of Harry when his paramour was within reach.

Eventually, he grew weary of watching Harry dance on his doorstep and went to open the door, grinning smugly as Harry nearly jumped out of his skin. "Are you quite finished with your moral dilemma's or should I leave you out here to stare blankly at my door for another twenty minutes?"

"Can I come in?" Harry asked, trying his best to pretend he hadn't been doing exactly what Draco teased him about. His chest was puffed up and his shoulders were squared and he was glaring at Draco as if the Dark Mark was emblazoned on his forehead.

"It would be my pleasure," Draco answered dramatically, holding the door open with a bow. He couldn't see Harry's face as the man made his way into Draco's sitting room, but he could tell the Gryffindor was rolling his eyes. "Would you like something to drink?"

"Whatever you're having," Harry replied distractedly, so Draco brought him a glass of wine and sat down in the chair directly across from him. "Already collecting notes for your big celebrity matchmaking endorsement?" Harry asked, gesturing toward the clipping Draco had on top of the mantle.

He hadn't meant to leave any of them in plain sight, but he'd forgotten to clear that one away when he'd heard the wards indicate he had a visitor. "Yes," he lied, because he couldn't very well tell Harry what the real reason for having them about was. He was still a bit spooked by how thoroughly the magicks had refused to let him say anything to Harry about his affections that afternoon. He could only remember feeling that way once before and that was while trying to resist the influence of Veritaserum. He felt as compelled to hold his tongue that afternoon, as he had felt compelled to let it loose under the potions effects.

"I can't understand you," Harry sighed, shaking his head as he stared into Draco's eyes. He was searching for something, but for what, Draco couldn't guess.

"That's because you haven't really tried," Draco replied softly, he was tired of this back and forth, but he didn't know what to do. He wanted Harry, but he couldn't have him. He wanted to be honest and confess his feelings, but the magic wouldn't allow it. He was stuck and it was infuriating. He'd always prided himself in his control, in his unwavering ability to direct any given situation to bend to his will, but he was at a loss here – when it came to one of the most important moments in his life - and he hated it.

"I have," Harry countered. "I've spent hours, _days_, trying to decipher your actions, but every time I think I've figured you out, you go and contradict every conclusion I've come to!"

Draco sighed; a deep and weary sound, and he pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache coming on from his desire to break through the walls the magicks had erected around his life to prevent him from spilling his soul to Harry. Harry didn't deserve to be so confused, but it wasn't as if Draco was doing it on purpose. "I don't know what to tell you," he said at last. "I don't know what I _can_ tell you," he added, to be more accurate.

"Are we friends?" Harry asked and Draco nodded easily. "Are we more than that?" Harry asked, but Draco's mouth dried up as it had back at Harry's office and all he could do was shrug and swallow copious amounts of wine to try and loosen his throat.

"The lesson," Draco rasped, when he could speak again. "I think that's why you're here."

"Right," Harry muttered, looking dejected all over again. Pain ripped through Draco at the sight, at the knowledge that he'd turned the once proud and confident Gryffindor into a broody shadow of his former self. "So. What number are we up to?"

"Five," Draco replied automatically. They were only halfway through the program, which was actually impressive for how little time they'd been working together, but it meant that weeks of torture still loomed in front of Draco's vision. Why had he agreed to this? Oh, right. He couldn't manage to deny Harry anything he asked for, except the truth. And it was only going to get worse, as the lessons from here on would start to seal the bond between Harry and Oliver, starting tonight. "It's time to discuss your first kiss with Oliver. Please, tell me you haven't already caved and ignored my warnings to abstain?" he asked with mild annoyance.

"I'm just as pure as I was when I showed up at your door weeks ago," Harry assured him sarcastically.

"Good," Draco sighed, meaning more than Harry probably guessed with the answer. He had to get through this, no matter how much Harry and Oliver snogging was going to kill something inside of him. He shuddered as he thought of how much worse this was going to be when they reached step seven. "The first kiss is so much more important than people realize. The number of people who base a relationship's future on the first kiss is actually quite staggering, which is why I make my couples wait until step five to allow it."

"So, it's normal for you to forbid your client's from snogging for this long?" Harry asked, his eyes narrowing as if he was trying to decide something.

"Yes," Draco replied, looking irked at Harry's doubtful expression. He would make Harry wait forever if he could, in the hopes that lack of intimacy would eventually drive Oliver away, but he knew that Harry would give in before he allowed that to happen, so it was better to proceed with Draco's instruction. His life depended on this relationship working out, after all. "This way, even if one or both of you is rubbish at it, you'll have four steps worth of common ground and romance building to balance it out and keep the relationship from fizzling. You can't underestimate the power of the first kiss, Harry."

"I never have, but you sound like a bit of a hypocrite, Malfoy. What about our kiss in the wine cellar?" he reminded Draco, making the man raise a delicate eyebrow in response.

"So, you do remember that? I thought perhaps I'd merely dreamed it by the way you adamantly avoided the incident," Draco chirped, a cheeky grin gracing his features at Harry's blush.

"I remember," Harry whispered faintly, his fingers going to his lips for the barest of seconds. "But doesn't that break all of your rules?"

"Did it surprise you?" he asked and Harry nodded. "Did it take your breath away?" he asked, leaning a bit closer. His heart raced when Harry nodded again, slower this time. "Did it leave you wanting more?" Harry swallowed thickly and Draco had his answer. "Then no, it didn't break any of my rules," he answered with a smile that shattered through Harry's anger and confusion and right into his heart. "Tonight, I'll teach you how to make your boyfriend feel the same way."

"Show me," Harry whispered, still entranced by Draco's lips and smooth, deep voice.

Draco threw caution to the wind and heeded Harry's words, curling his long, pale fingers in Harry's wild mane and pulled him forward, pressing their lips together in blissful union at last. He didn't know how he could have ever mistaken Harry for a fling. He tasted like fire, passion, heat and confidence, all the things Draco craved to have in his life. Cradling Harry's jaw in his hand, Draco controlled the kiss like he hadn't been able to control anything about their relationship so far. When his tongue grazed Harry's lips, begging for entrance, Harry's mouth parted to allow it at once, moaning against him at the heady contact.

The sensation pulled Draco in, drowned him in the feel of kissing the man he was always meant to kiss. This was his one, his only, and as Harry's hands found Draco's waist, drawing him closer, Draco knew that everything else he had ever experienced paled in comparison to this single moment with his soul mate.

His heart was racing like a thoroughbred when they parted, swallowing down all the air they'd sacrificed while their lips were joined. "I meant, show me on your hand or something," Harry rasped, his face flushed with lust and yearning to match Draco's own.

"Liar," Draco challenged, his voice still breathy, only having a second to notice Harry's blush deepening before the man was attacking his lips with renewed desperation.

-----------------------------------------------

Harry knew it was wrong, knew it was terrible and unfaithful and sickening of him to be kissing Draco while he was dating Oliver, but his mind couldn't have possibly outweighed his heart and his body teaming up together on this particular matter. It was like a Chaser having to make a goal when the other team had ten times as many Bludgers to work with. One of those heavy balls was bound to crash into the Chaser eventually, taking him down for the count. Harry felt like he'd been hit with several, and was left dazed in the wake of Draco's intoxicating taste in his mouth.

There was no spot that felt neglected by Draco's tongue, no space on his body that didn't burn like wildfire as the blond dug possessive fingers into his back. Harry wanted to be absorbed, to be devoured, to fall hopelessly into the endless depths of Draco's arms. "Harry," Draco whispered, a hair's breadth away from his lips. His long fingers moved to caress a hot path along Harry's cheek, twining haphazardly in the man's hair. "Harry, I-"

Then he was met with silence once more as Draco swallowed and cringed. "You what?" Harry prompted, begging for the words he needed to hear. Pleading for his indiscretions to be worth it, because Draco wanted him, or maybe…. Harry shook his head. He couldn't think that word. He couldn't hope that the blond felt something so strongly when he refused to say anything at all. He couldn't do that to himself, put him through that agonizing torture of wondering if the blond would ever, _could_ ever love him. "You what?" he pressed again, and he knew his voice was desperate this time, but he couldn't bring himself to care. He needed to know, needed to hear something, anything, to justify what he'd just done.

Instead he got a growl of frustration as Draco threw his form back and away from Harry and leaned his forehead against the cool, marble mantle. A silent, wracking sob shuddered through Harry's body as he stood. Harry wanted to touch him, hold him, but it was obvious Draco didn't want him. If he did, he would have said so by now. Harry had ruined everything, his friendship with Draco, his relationship with Oliver, and now he wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

"Just go," Draco rasped, his voice strangled and dry.

"I deserve an answer, Draco," Harry spat, knowing full well that Draco would be able to hear the unshed tears in his voice. "What is this?!" he demanded.

"Just get the fuck out, Potter!" Draco shouted through gritted teeth without even bothering to turn around, and Harry gasped, whirled and stormed out of Draco's flat for what he expected to be the last time.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

The moment Draco heard the door click shut he let out the scream he'd been holding in and his legs collapsed out from under him as he fell to the ground. Pain like nothing he'd ever felt before laced up his body and twined through his veins, crippling him worse than the _Cruciatus_ could ever dream of. He dug his fingernails into the soft bed of his palms and wailed, trying to ride it out, all while hoping that this wasn't the last sound he would ever make.

His heart ached at the pain and desperation he'd heard in Harry's voice, but he had to make the stubborn man leave. If Draco was going to die tonight, he didn't want Harry to witness it.

Author's Note: UHG! This chapter just kills me. This was one of the scenes I've looked most forward to writing and I hope it unfolded for you the same way as it's playing in my head. Heartbreaking. Keep your eyes open for a new oneshot called 'House of Masks'. I should be posting it Wednesday (tomorrow). Also, if you haven't already noticed, I posted two other oneshots (Queer as Foto and Trick or Treat) and I've updated the Twisted Faerie Tales with Sleeping Beauty, so be sure to check those out as well. These fingertips have been busy.


	16. Alone

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking over this chapter for me and thanks to all who had reviewed so far. You make me feel warm and fuzzy, which coincidentally makes me write faster. *grin

Chapter 16 Alone

"Excuse me, do you know where I can find the skybox suites?" Harry asked a man in security robes, hoping the wizard might point him in the right direction. The man took a look at his ticket and motioned for Harry to follow him, which he gladly did.

It was precisely one thousand, eight hundred and forty two stairs up to Oliver's box – Harry was able to count each one in the silence that emanated from the security guard. Harry was just thankful that it wasn't one of the goons from Harry's first visit to the pitch and held his tongue, not wanting to press his luck.

He was curious to see who he would be sharing the box with, but he found it empty when he arrived. He secretly hoped that it would be someone he could talk to about the game, because he really needed the distraction. After last night and Malfoy's rude dismissal, Harry could use all the meaningless conversation he could get to take his mind off of the blond prat who had managed to work his way into Harry's heart, only to shatter it from the inside.

It was his own fault, Harry knew. He shouldn't have trusted the Slytherin, shouldn't have let his guard down and certainly shouldn't have snogged him senseless. He debated telling Oliver about it, but he knew he couldn't confess to his boyfriend right before Oliver had to play tonight, but he was still debating whether or not to tell him afterward. The honest Gryffindor in him wanted to spill his guts and let Oliver punish him however he needed to. If that punishment came in the form of breaking up with him, then Harry would just have to cope with that. But seeing as there was zero chance of it ever happening again, Harry wondered if it might be better to remain mum about the entire incident. It would only hurt Oliver to learn that Harry had cheated, and in the end, Harry knew he would berate himself more thoroughly than Oliver ever could.

He felt like a moron having fallen for Malfoy's tricks.

The memory of the blond's lips still made him shiver, and he had to admit, Malfoy was a brilliant actor. He had honestly believed, in that moment, that Oliver was entirely wrong for him and that it was Draco he was meant to be with. Just the way the man fit against him, the way his lips and tongue seemed to _know_ him, it seemed far too much to be coincidental. Harry still didn't know what it was that had caused Malfoy to so swiftly and cruelly dismiss him. It had probably been a test all along, as he'd feared and suspected, and now that Harry had given in and practically thrown himself at the Slytherin, Draco was likely to drop him as a client as well.

Walking out the door to Draco's flat had been heart wrenching, and Harry felt as though he'd lost his lover, his best friend and his soul mate all in one fell swoop. And even though Harry knew it was ridiculous to think that Draco had been any of those things, it didn't stop his heart from shattering as he let the door slam shut on an entire chapter of his life. He didn't know if he'd ever see the Slytherin again, and he had very mixed feelings about that.

Part of him hoped Draco would fall off the face of the Earth, and the rest of him still craved the man's company as if it were oxygen. He was pathetic.

Luckily, he didn't have long to dwell on his inability to discern fantasy from reality. At that moment, a blur of blue and gold whooshed by and Harry found himself leaning on the edge of the rail to try and make out which player was his boyfriend. From his vantage point they all looked roughly the same, but then Oliver separated from the pack as he took his place by the goals. Harry waved, even though he knew Oliver could neither see him nor respond in kind, even if he had. The seat next to him was still empty and remained that way through the entire game, so he didn't care how foolish he might look. He found himself constantly turning to the empty chair when Puddlemere scored a goal, wishing he had someone to celebrate with and feeling rather lonely way up in the clouds by himself.

It wasn't even a close game. Oliver was perfection at warding off the Quaffle, to the extent that the Harpies didn't score even one point before Logan swooped in and captured the Snitch, securing Puddlemere's victory. It was the shortest game Harry had ever sat through, but then he rarely bothered going until the teams were closer to the World Cup. By then it was only the best of the best playing and sometimes the games would last hours. Once, Harry sat through a Puddlemere versus Hammers game that went on for three straight days. By the end, most of the fans had left and weren't around to see who had won.

He hoped that the brevity of the game meant that he could take Oliver out to dinner afterward. He still hadn't decided whether or not he should tell his boyfriend about the kiss with Draco, but he'd rather do it in a public place where Oliver would likely keep his cool rather than alone at his flat where Oliver could throttle him. Not that Harry would stop him. If it were physically possible, Harry would have very much liked to throttle himself for his ignorance.

Too slowly, Harry made his way down the many levels to the pitch. He was hindered at every turn by the turtle-like progression or by a fan who would recognize him and feel the need to spark up a conversation as if they were longtime friends. "Is it true you're dating Oliver Wood?" "Do you think he'll quit the team now?" Or his favorite, "Have you given thought to the fact that Wood might really be a dark wizard in disguise?"

Harry plastered on a pleasant smile through most of it and answered with the fewest words possible to remain polite. The last thing he needed was the front page of the _Prophet_ showing him screaming at a Quidditch fan who was only being curious. Patience was key in a situation like this, only the trouble was, Harry didn't feel patient at all. He wanted to get to his boyfriend, hoping the man would erase his lingering feelings of rejection. Oliver wanted him, even if Draco didn't, and he knew his boyfriend would prove that if he could only _get to him_.

Finally, Harry drew to the ground floor and walked as swiftly as he could toward the main gate that would lead to the pitch. A security guard blocked his way, but thankfully it was the same one who had directed Harry to the skybox and he merely stepped aside for Harry to pass. He spared no time bolting in the direction of the locker rooms. He didn't know how long the men lingered there after they changed and it would be just Harry's luck that he'd miss Oliver altogether. It seemed to have taken ages just to get this far.

He slowed as he started to hear the bustle from the players and realized he'd been panicked over nothing. They mostly ignored him as he made his way into the locker rooms, glancing around to try and find his boyfriend. He nodded occasionally and spouted the usual 'good game' to the ones who looked up as he passed, but he still couldn't seem to locate Oliver in the crowd of sweaty, half-naked men.

"Looking for Olli?" a voice asked from behind him and Harry turned around to see Logan Bradford step up to him.

"Er, yeah," Harry replied with a nod, not sure what else to say to the man who he temporarily crippled in his stunt to make himself look better. He felt both guilty and indignant toward the man. He didn't think he was wrong about Logan's affection for Oliver, but he _knew_ he was wrong to have acted out in such a childish manner as he had.

"He's gone to look for you, actually. You probably passed him on the stairs without realizing it," Logan explained, a soft smile on his lips.

"Oh," Harry sighed, wishing he'd just stayed put. He hadn't needed to brave all those hectic crowds after all He and Oliver could have had the skybox all to themselves. "Thanks," he added as he turned to leave.

"Wait, Potter!" Logan called after him. "You can wait here. He'll be back I'm sure. He didn't even change before he took off after you."

Harry didn't think it was his imagination that Logan looked bitter about that fact, but he pushed it aside and tried to be friendly. "Sorry about the game the other week," he offered and Logan just shrugged.

"It was silly of me to be jealous," Bradford admitted. "You're like a legend to Oliver, though. The best Seeker he's ever known," the man whispered, taking on the reverent tone that Oliver often did when he spoke of a brilliant play. "Seeing that you were dating him, I began to question my place on the team."

Harry blanched and shook his head. "I have no desire to play professional Quidditch," he assured the man he'd thought was a rival for Oliver's heart. Turned out he was just a man who thought he was going to get sacked from his dream job because of Harry Potter.

Logan nodded and flushed, scraping his foot along the floor like a chastised student. "Oliver explained that to me in hospital. I'm sorry I was such a prat."

Harry grinned and held out his hand, which Logan took at once. "Me too. No hard feelings?"

"None," Logan replied, his own grin matching Harry's wattage.

"I feel like I should get a picture of this."

Harry and Logan turned simultaneously to see Oliver leaning against a set of lockers with a smirk on his face that wouldn't normally be seen on a Gryffindor. "My two favorite guys kiss and make up all on their own," he added cheerily.

"But, Oliver, I thought _we_ were your favorite guys," replied one of the Beaters, Countius, who was making his way to Oliver's side along with the other Beater, Rupert.

"Yeah, Olli," Rupert said, imitating a sickeningly sweet tone and making loud smooching noises in Oliver's direction. "Last night you told us we were your favorite."

"Sod off, guys," he replied with a laugh, ruffling their hair like a big brother. Harry and Logan joined in the laughter, and Oliver pulled Harry into his chest, pressing a hot kiss to his temple. "So, how did you like the game?" he asked.

"You guys did a fantastic job. The Harpies didn't stand a chance," Harry complimented, warming under his boyfriend's beaming smile.

"If Morgan would stop using that Cleansweep, she might have been able to score," Rupert exclaimed.

"She'll be clutching that thing with her cold, dead fingers, mark my words," Countius added.

"Is the Cleansweep even regulation?" Harry asked, feeling an errant lump forming in his throat. It was a very old broom model, and Harry started to wonder if Oliver hadn't been fibbing when he made excuses for not using the broom Harry had bought him.

"She uses the fifth edition, which is the only Cleansweep allowed. I'm sure the only reason it hasn't been knocked off the regulation list is because Morgan pads the committee's pockets. She swears her broom is good luck," Logan laughed.

"Obviously, she's wrong," Harry muttered and the rest agreed, poking fun at the ancient broom. The group laughed and changed and made plans to go out the next night for a drink at one of the team's favorite pubs. They invited Harry along, and he found himself rather comfortable in the company of Oliver and his teammates, even Logan, which was not something he could have said just a few hours before.

Slowly but surely, Draco's face faded from Harry's mind, and with it, the lingering tingle he felt when he thought about their kiss. Harry would get over this; he would move on. He felt confident of that much at least. Draco had just been a passing fancy, an unattainable dream, but Oliver, _his_ Oliver, was the real thing. He sunk deeper into his boyfriend's embrace and let the other voices wash over him, taking away the guilt he felt. There was no reason to tell Oliver about his and Draco's indiscretion because it hadn't meant anything at all, at least not to Draco. Why give all of this up for one silly, meaningless kiss?

"Ready to go?" Oliver asked Harry after Logan had named off the last ten World Cup winners on a dare. It had been fairly easy since most of them had been Puddlemere United.

"Sure," Harry replied quietly and they bid everyone a good night and strode out into the balmy air of the pitch.

"You seem distracted tonight, Harry," Oliver noticed, threading his fingers through Harry's. "What's on your mind?"

"It's just been a long night I think," Harry evaded. "It was nice meeting some of your teammates."

"Yeah, they're all good guys. They're all happy for me, well, for us," he amended.

Harry laughed and glanced over at his boyfriend, noticing the expectant gleam in his eyes. He knew he was allowed to kiss Oliver now, that he'd gotten to the point in the program where he could just lean in and press his lips to Oliver's and give the man what he wanted, but it seemed too soon after his minor infidelity.

"We should go out this weekend," Harry proposed out of the blue, smiling as Oliver's eyes lit up. "A proper date, just the two of us. It feels like we've been in groups more often than we get to be alone."

"Are you planning to seduce me with a candlelit dinner, Harry?" Oliver teased.

"Maybe," Harry replied, waggling his eyebrows. "Would you turn me down?"

Oliver stopped short and used their joined hands to pull Harry to him, chest to chest. It knocked the air out of Harry's lungs, and not just because of the suddenness of the movement, but from the weight of Oliver's dark gaze as he pressed every line of his body against Harry's. "I could never refuse you anything, Harry," he replied evenly, his voice deep to match the color of his eyes.

Harry swayed with the emotions that were ripping through him. He leaned in, inches away from ignoring his initial inclination and capturing Oliver's lips when a bright flash accosted them, leaving Harry stumbling and blind. Harry tried to blink away the white spots from his vision as a barrage of questions assailed them and more bulbs flashed.

"Mr. Potter, are you and Mr. Wood really engaged?"

"Oliver, Madeline Clancy with the _Daily Prophet_, does this mean you've sworn off of your bachelor days?"

"Edgar Rothschild with _Wand Magazine_. As prominent wizards in the community, are you concerned about the heightened attention toward homosexuality because of your union?"

"You are both second generation purebloods, aren't you at all worried about ending your bloodline by not marrying a pureblood witch and producing proper heirs?"

Harry wanted to throw his hands over his ears and scream for everyone to shut up and leave them alone, but this was his life. Harry was a celebrity - despite his best effort to get the world to forget about him - and now he was dating the captain and Keeper for the most successful Quidditch team in Britain. He was going to have to get used to being the media's focus, at least for a while. It didn't mean he had to like it, though.

"I think my sexuality has been addressed in all of your papers before," Harry replied, trying his best not to sound too snippy. "As for the rest, you'll all just need to wait for our representatives to make a public statement."

Oliver shot him a curious look, to which Harry wanted to shrug but knew he couldn't with the camera's still flashing. By representative, Harry meant Hermione. She'd always been his mouthpiece when something was too big for Harry to handle alone. She always knew exactly what to say and with what tone to say it in and the media had always trusted her without pause. He had no idea if Oliver had someone who made public announcements for him, but Harry was sure that Hermione wouldn't mind speaking for them both when the time came.

The bulbs continued to go off and the offensive questions shouted at them until Harry was at his wits end. "Now, if you'll excuse us, we were just on our way home to engage in some hot gay sex," Harry shouted over the din, smirking to himself when the crowd of reporters grew suddenly silent and still in their shock.

Oliver snickered beside him as Harry led them off the pitch and to a nearby alley, where he Apparated them both to his flat. "Did you mean that?" Oliver asked, chuckling to himself.

Harry sighed, and tried to find the humor in the issue that his boyfriend did, but he just couldn't muster up the energy. "I just wish they'd leave me alone," he groaned, flopping onto the nearest soft place, which happened to be his sofa.

Oliver moved to sit on the edge, pulling his boyfriend's feet up into his lap where he quickly shoved off his trainers and began rubbing between Harry's toes. "You should be dating someone less prominent then," Oliver chastised. "The media is there after all of my games, even if there is nothing this salacious for them to report on."

"I know," Harry moaned, both from frustration and the fantastic feel of Oliver's fingers. "I just wasn't as prepared as I should have been, and can you believe them? Asking about our sexuality as if it were any of their business, and accusing us of sullying our family names?! It was outrageous!"

"It was," Oliver agreed in a voice that Harry would have called patronizing on anyone else, but he knew his boyfriend was being genuine. "It was out of line, but it's only going to get worse after your last comment. They'll be after you for a blow up now," he warned.

Harry knew all of this already and had regretted the words the moment they left his lips. Still, he'd been able to bask in some satisfaction at getting them all to shut the hell up, even if it was for just a minute. He couldn't help but think that Hermione and Ron would be proud. Hell, Oliver looked practically giddy from Harry's outburst, but that might mean he thought he was getting shagged tonight.

"So, about that date," Harry prompted, trying to dispel that notion and lead away from another conversation about how much he hated the media all at once. "Are you interested?"

"Harry," Oliver began, looking down at him with lust-starved eyes, "I'm always interested."

Harry smiled and pulled Oliver from the arm of his sofa down on top of him, plying his cheeks and forehead with kisses. "I'll make all of the arrangements then. How is Saturday night?" he asked.

"Saturday is perfect," Oliver whispered and pulled himself to his feet. "I should get going."

"Did I say something wrong?" Harry asked, unsure why Oliver seemed so quick to go.

"No," Oliver assured him. "I'm just a bit…I can't lay here with you without wanting to press my luck, so I'm going to go home and wank," he admitted at last with a brilliant blush. Harry couldn't stop grinning.

"Really?" he asked, standing up and winding his arms around Oliver's waist so that he couldn't escape. He pressed their erections together, hissing with pleasure at the delicious friction. "I'll likely be doing the same right after you go."

Oliver's answering sigh sounding like frustration mixed with relief. "I was beginning to wonder if you just weren't physically attracted to me," he whispered and Harry kissed the corner of his mouth to try and assuage the man's fears.

"I just want everything to be perfect," he replied, curling his fingers into Oliver's hair. "I find you very, very," he began, rutting against his boyfriend to drive home the point, "very attractive."

Oliver grinned and stole a chaste kiss from Harry before pulling away and heading for the door. "Stop testing my willpower," he warned with a laugh. "I'll see you at the pub tomorrow night?"

"I wouldn't miss it," Harry promised and Oliver was gone the next moment, leaving Harry alone on the sofa to contemplate how he was going to spend the rest of his evening.

* * *

The echoes of pain still laced through Draco's body when he woke up Friday morning. He tried to disregard that fact in his gratitude that he had woken up at all. When he took the sleeping draught Wednesday night, trying to numb away some of the pain with sleep, he wasn't entirely sure he would live through the night, let alone the next day. At the moment, he hadn't cared. Draco had just wanted the searing fire in his veins to end once and for all. He even allowed himself a moment of logic amidst his excruciating state where he reasoned that death might make everyone's lives easier, including his own.

Harry might mourn, especially if he was in any way alerted to the cause of Draco's death, but it would save him the confusion Draco was putting him through and Draco would finally be out of his hair so that Potter could pursue Oliver wholeheartedly.

But Thursday came and went with Draco in a comatose state and then the Friday morning sun beamed brightly into his windows and his eyelids opened to meet it. Draco was thankful the magicks had spared his life but he didn't think he had too many 'get out of Azkaban free' cards still left in his deck. As the affliction receded into a dull ache, just sharp enough to remind Draco of his folly, the blond got up, steadying himself on wobbly legs, and headed downstairs.

He drew himself a bath, intent on soaking in it for hours if that's what was needed to repel the final vestiges of pain from his limbs, and he wondered what he was going to do now. He couldn't kiss Harry again. Even though the ache in his body sharpened just thinking about it, it didn't overshadow the ache in his heart at the loss. He was no closer to finding a new match for Oliver than he'd been a week ago and his eyes at the Puddlemere pitch didn't make Logan seem like a promising option. According to his favorite reporter, every word Oliver exchanged with the man and every gesture made was clearly only platonic and Quidditch related. Draco knew that Harry was jealous of Bradford, but he couldn't manage to prove anything untoward was going on there. Either Oliver honestly had no feelings for his Seeker, or he was just another oblivious Gryffindor.

Draco's Galleons were on the latter, but even if he were right, it wouldn't help him. Oliver was an upstanding citizen of the wizarding community and had been nothing but faithful to his boyfriend. He knew Harry's conscience was going to be lashing through the man today after the dust settled and the Gryffindor realized he'd cheated on his boyfriend with a Slytherin, but Draco couldn't assume that Harry would act on his guilt because of the way things had ended between them. Had Draco just rode out the pain long enough to explain, or had he even been more magnanimous in his insistence for Harry to leave, things might look different today. As it stood, Draco would be lucky if Harry ever spoke to him again.

But, maybe that was for the best.

Avoiding Harry, or Harry avoiding him, seemed to be the most consistent way of remaining a living and breathing wizard. It would ensure that no more slips occurred, and it would allow Harry to move on and forget all about him.

Although, it might also anger the magicks, and Draco didn't want to take a chance of that happening again. Not when he'd barely escaped with his life the last time. It seemed that there was a rock to his left, a hard place to his right and the wind was dashing his body in between the two, leaving him bruised and broken.

Staring down into the golden ribbons of his soothing bath potion, Draco had a reluctant epiphany. If Harry had a golden match outside of his pure match with Draco than why couldn't Draco not have the same? Maybe there was some handsome stranger out there, waiting to fill the void that his heart felt from being denied Harry. Sure, he had searched for that match for years already, but perhaps if Draco focused on a new search, instead of only thinking about Harry, then this mystery man might finally materialize. He'd certainly earned it, being as restrained as he'd been so far. One kiss was nothing in comparison to the depth of emotions he had been denying himself. If Harry was going to run off and marry Oliver and live happily ever after, didn't Draco deserve the same?

When a dark owl swooped in to drop off the morning paper, Harry and Oliver's faces plastered across the page with the former's scandalous quote in blinking red script, Draco had his confirmation. Harry wanted Oliver and the Gryffindor Golden Boy always got what he wanted.

Draco scribbled a quick note and sent it along to the Ministry. It wasn't even a half hour before his owl returned with his own note and Harry's tight scrawl beneath it.

_Potter,_

_I do hope this morning's paper is mistaken and you haven't jumped ahead in our lessons. _

_Draco_

_Malfoy,_

_I'm not taking any more of your bloody lessons, so you can stop feigning concern and mind your own business. _

_HJP_

Yes, Harry was rightfully livid and had moved on to bigger and better things. Draco would have to do the same. He was going to start dating again, if only to take his mind off of Harry once and for all.

* * *

Author's Note: Well, well, well. Now what? The title of the next chapter is 'Green-Eyed Monster', so I suppose you can all guess what Harry's reaction to this development will be. Does anyone like Oliver yet? Lol.


	17. Greeneyed Monster

Author's Note: Thanks again to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work, and thanks to everyone for their reviews! This chapter is dedicated to Twistyguru, who lets plot bunnies run rampant in my brain matter. This might be the longest chapter of the story so far...

Chapter 17 Green-eyed Monster

Warm, amber light flooded into the street as Clive opened the door to The Unicorn Horn, ushering Harry ahead of him and into the crowded pub. The heady aroma of malted barley and black cherries took over, coming from the massive copper cask in the corner where the pub brewed their own dark lager. It also served to naturally heat the room on this blustery evening, and Harry found himself drawn instinctively away from the doorway to that side of the room.

The patrons were packed edge to edge, and Harry had to fight his way through robes of varying shades to get to the spot at the bar where Ron and Neville already sat nursing pints. Harry hadn't been to this particular wizarding pub before, and found the place a sight classier than any of the places he and Ron used to inhabit, and he had thought those pubs nice. The bar was a long oval, made of polished walnut that showed both age and beauty in the raw finishing. Above the bar hung several chandeliers of different sizes, but all of them looked like dismantled family crests, with lions fighting unicorns and eagles soaring around mighty dragons over swords and shields.

The front consisted of a wide bay window with bistro tables and chairs, and though the patrons could look out over the streets of London and passing traffic, all the Muggles would see was a dusty façade of a closed down bookstore. Even when customers entered at the street, others would merely see the wizards wandering down a dark alleyway beside the shop. It was a tricky prospect to put a popular wizarding facility like this one smack dab in the middle of plain sight, but the pub had been successful with it for over fifty years so far.

Harry clapped Ron on the shoulder and leaned over to spy on his drink. "How long have you been here?"

"Two pints worth," the redhead answered with a grin. "Though Neville's been here longer and that's still his first," he added, gesturing to the half-full glass in front of their friend. Neville rolled his eyes and wasn't the least bit put-off by Ron's teasing.

"You just have no survival instincts," Neville countered.

Harry laughed and slid onto a stool between the two men, while Clive sat on the other side of Neville. He could easily picture the fright that Hermione would be if Neville showed up sloshed on her doorstep that evening. He couldn't blame the Herbology Professor for being cautious. "Clive said he'll be drinking light as well," Harry mentioned, shooting the man a placating smile. "He doesn't want to anger the missus," he explained.

"Stumbling in pissed tends to rule out any chance of a shag in my near future," the Slytherin pointed out and Ron laughed for a moment before his face fell into a deep grimace.

"Clive, Mate, how many times do I have to ask you not to talk about shagging my little sister?" he complained, gulping down his pint as if that might drown out any images he had conjured before it was too late.

Instead of apologizing, Clive merely chuckled and raised his hands up in defense. "It's not my fault your sister is so good in bed."

Ron groaned around the rim of his glass and drank faster while Harry laughed, tuning out the conversation he'd already heard a hundred times as he scanned the bar for anyone he might recognize. Harry had agreed to meet Oliver and the other Puddlemere players here after their practice, but he didn't know what time that would be.

Unexpectedly, his eyes landed on the man he'd been trying _not_ to think about for the last several hours, no matter how fond of the man he'd grown. Harry felt a twinge of pain as he thought again of their kiss, and then Draco's reaction. He still didn't understand it and he desperately wanted to. As if sensing that he was now the focus of Harry's gaze, Draco looked up and offered him a hesitant smile and a nod before drifting back into the conversation he was having with the gentleman beside him.

Harry parted from his friends with muttered excuses and shoved his way over to where the blond was sitting. He couldn't explain the pull he'd felt, or the reasoning behind his wanting to speak to the blond just then, but he knew there was something that still needed to be said between them. "Malfoy, it seems weird somehow to see you in a pub," he said, trying to start off lightly.

Draco turned and glanced around him before settling on Harry. "This is the only one I ever visit."

"Are the rest too low rent for you?" he asked, unable to keep the bite from his voice. He'd been intent on apologizing for the abrupt rudeness of his letter that morning, but his earlier ire stole through.

"No, the others are all darker and quiet. I only come here for the noise. Sometimes I just need to get out of my own head for a bit," he explained and Harry nodded, thinking it made unfortunately perfect sense.

"I wanted to apologize for my rudeness this morning," he told the blond. "I just…well, I just don't know how to deal with what happened between us the other night, but I wanted to give you a chance to explain."

The man to Draco's left vacated his stool, so Harry took it up, ignoring the man on Draco's other side that shot him an odd look. It wasn't until Harry caught Malfoy's discomfort, billowing off of him in waves, that he stopped to take in the situation fully. Draco looked nice in perfectly tailored gray robes that matched his eye color, his hair purposefully disheveled in the way Harry found he fancied and his eyes were bright with nerves. The man next to him was handsome, dark hair, dark eyes, just enough facial hair to look masculine but not enough to appear unkempt, and deep sapphire robes that made a striking contrast against Draco's just as everything else about the man seemed to. And his hand was resting possessively on the small of Malfoy's back.

"Potter, this is Alston, my date," he told Harry sharply when it seemed they had all come to the same conclusion at once.

"Oh," Harry breathed, feeling a flush of embarrassment that overpowered the humiliation at his delayed reaction to such an obvious fact. "I didn't know you were dating anyone," he said at last, as if that would explain his utter lack of observation and the sudden flight of his usually keen Auror skills.

"Well, I am," Draco informed him briskly, and Alston reached out his hand for Harry to shake, which he did, albeit reluctantly.

"You're Harry Potter, aren't you?" the man asked, awestruck with celebrity. "Hon, you didn't tell me you knew _the_ Harry Potter."

"I wasn't aware that a list of all my acquaintances was a prerequisite when meeting you for drinks," Draco snapped, and Harry had a feeling it had less to do with Alston's words and more to do with Harry's interference, though he made a good point.

"I didn't mean it that way," the man replied sheepishly and tucked the hand Harry had just shaken back into his robe pocket quickly. All the while, Harry was wondering how he'd been demoted from friend to acquaintance in a matter of minutes. "I was only trying to be courteous."

"I know," Draco whispered and shot the man a begrudging smile. "Thanks."

That one word made Harry's insides boil as Alston beamed at him and leaned in to kiss the corner of Draco's mouth. Jealousy, like the stinger of a scorpion, lanced through him and it took all his learned political skills to refrain from showing the couple just what he thought of the tender display. It was nothing really, just a small kiss, but that one touch made Harry want to scream at Alston and hex him through the window.

He tried to shake it off, tried to reason that there was no call for him to be so jealous, so angry, because Draco wasn't doing anything wrong. Besides, Harry had Oliver, who was waltzing into the pub with his arm wrapped around two other blokes just that moment. _That_ was something to be jealous of, not this quiet couple beside him.

"Right, well, have a good night then, I'm off to fetch Oliver from the grasp of his admirers," he said as he launched himself quickly away from Draco and his date and toward his boyfriend. "Olli," he greeted, carefully enunciating the pet name, "Who are they?"

He tried to keep his voice level and dispatch with the accusatory tone, but some of it must have leaked through, because Oliver shot him the oddest glance before pulling away from the other two men and wrapping himself tightly around his boyfriend. "Harry, you remember Countius Higgenbaum and Rupert Gruff, Puddlemere United's Beaters, don't you?"

Harry felt his face flame up again; it seemed he was getting all his perceptions wrong tonight. Had he paid attention, instead of swimming in an envious fog, he would have recognized the men straight away. "Happy to see you again," he greeted, reaching out his hand to shake as Oliver whispered in his ear.

"You were jealous," he accused lightly, smiling against the shell of Harry's ear. "How adorable."

Harry smiled and tried not to betray the shiver Oliver had caused him to the two newcomers. He didn't know how Oliver's teammates would take it and didn't want to place himself in the center of more humiliation tonight. "I was a little," Harry admitted, though he left off about the source of his jealousy.

"I'll let you make it up to me later," Oliver whispered, his tone promising delicious things and Harry couldn't help but smile in return, deftly ignoring the pair of smoldering gray eyes boring into the side of his head.

"Everyone's over there." Harry pointed to the other side of the pub, where Neville, Clive and Ron still sat and Oliver nodded, indicating that Harry should lead the way. He took the long way around, avoiding where Draco and his date were in deep conversation, and led Oliver and his teammates to the far end of the room. Harry took a stool, and Oliver stood behind him, his arms lacing around Harry's shoulders as they waited for the barman to fetch them drinks.

"You know, it's not fair that we had to leave our wives at home, but Harry gets to bring his," Clive pointed out. Harry and Neville suppressed a snigger while Ron and Oliver both shouted 'Oi' in unison as if it were practiced.

Harry pressed back into him and ran his hands along the outside of Oliver's thighs in a calming movement, though Oliver didn't sound mad at all, simply amused and mockingly offended. "Is that what you call me when you're out with your friends?" he asked, chuckling lightly when Harry responded, 'of course' and rolled his eyes as if that would be the obvious thing to do.

"They all ask where you are, and I tell them you're at home making me dinner," Harry explained sarcastically.

"Speaking of, I've left a delicious pot roast warming in the oven, Sweetie," he teased. The friends all laughed at that, and Harry felt awash with contentment. Oliver was the perfect boyfriend, so he couldn't explain how his eyes still managed to find Draco's in the crowded pub.

* * *

The bar was spinning slightly in Harry's vision, though he didn't think that had anything to do with the amount of alcohol he'd consumed while watching Draco and his date make eyes at one another all evening. It wasn't the touching, or the smiling, or even the way they spoke intimately in the loud din of the pub, albeit, all those things made Harry's stomach churn from more than just lager. It was the way Alston made Draco smile and laugh that really sliced Harry to the thick. He'd admitted to Harry once that not many people could make him smile the way that Harry always seemed to, and as little a thing as that might be, the comment touched Harry more deeply than he had realized until right this moment. He felt guilty for devoting so much attention on a man who was only supposed to be his friend, but no matter how much he tried, Harry couldn't seem to help it.

Oliver leaned into Harry's back and steadied him, leaning over every now and then to check Harry's progress into drunkenness. Oliver smelled good - like fresh cut grass and tumbled linen - he was handsome – no one would deny that – he made Harry laugh, they had loads in common, so why wasn't he completely and utterly happy? Why was Draco, out on his own rightful date, still drawing him in and ruining his night? It made no sense whatsoever, and hard as he tried, Harry couldn't seem to find the answers at the bottom of his pint glass.

"I think we've got a shot at the World Cup this year," Ron announced proudly. "We've bested all the teams we've played so far, and it'll just get tougher, but I think the Cannons are up for the task."

"What happens if both our teams make it to the World Cup?" Oliver speculated. "Who are you going to root for, Harry?"

"It's not like you can root for both of them," Clive pointed out with a mischievous, Slytherin grin.

"He'll root for the Cannons, of course," Ron scoffed. "I'm his best mate."

"But I'm his boyfriend," Oliver pointed out. "Surely that would make him root for Puddlemere? Plus, he'll have my box seats to watch the game."

"He'll look pretty silly wearing orange in the Puddlemere box seats," Ron mused.

"Boys, boys," Harry slurred. "There's plenty of ol' Harry to go around. I can cheer for both of you."

Oliver and Ron both shared a glance over Harry's head and then burst into a fit of laughter. "Harry, mate, I think it's time to take you home," Ron offered.

Ron himself was slurring, and stumbled as he tried to help Harry off his stool so Oliver interceded and grasped Harry tightly around the waist and pulled him to his chest. "It's alright, Ron. I'll get him home. I've only had one beer all night and I'm fine to Apparate."

"Whatever you say, Mate," Ron replied with a wink, to which Oliver just shook his head and smiled weakly.

The bar grew fuzzy for Harry before he even reached the door, but he felt as though Draco's gaze never left his progress through the pub, even though Harry never turned to confirm that. The last thing he remembered was the sickening feel of Apparition, fighting to keep his dinner down – he thought he succeeded - and the feel of warm lips pressed against his forehead where his scar sat placidly, soaking up the affection before Harry fell asleep.

* * *

Harry hated life.

He hated the way the sun shone brilliantly and persistently through his windows. He hated the way a bird had decided to chirp just outside his bedroom. He hated how scratchy his sheets felt and how dry his mouth was and how painfully his head pounded. He hated how weak his legs felt, and how much he shook as he tried to climb out of bed and stagger blearily down the stairs to his kitchen.

He hated the fact that he could smell the soothing aroma of tea even though he couldn't have brewed any. In fact, he was so deep in his hatred of every sight, smell and sound, that it took him longer than it might usually to notice he had company.

Sitting at his breakfast table, looking quite comfortable drinking from Harry's favorite mug and reading Harry's morning paper, was Oliver Wood. He didn't look hung over at all, and Harry almost hated that he looked so bright and chipper, except the man was only wearing red boxer shorts, which only left a swirling pit of lust forming in Harry's gut that quickly dissolved his nausea and hatred as if it had never been there.

It didn't take long, however, for the implications of Oliver's casual partial nudity to set in. As delicious as his boyfriend looked sitting there with his sun kissed skin and tousled bed hair, it left Harry with a sneaking suspicion that there was something _very big_ he should be remembering and no matter how deeply he tried to search his memory, he couldn't recall anything after leaving the pub on Oliver's arm.

"Morning," Harry greeted; startling Oliver away from the article he'd been reading. Harry took a seat at the table across from his boyfriend and studied him for a moment, noticing that he must still be drowsy because none of Oliver's features seemed very clear.

"Good morning to you, Harry," he replied, still more energetic than Harry ever felt in the mornings, least of all after several pints of lager. "Tea?" he offered, and a mug hovered from the countertop, still under a warming charm, and landed in front of Harry on the table. Honey, sugar, milk and cream all floated over to him afterward and Harry sighed as he let the smell of it wake him up. He put a dollop of honey and a little milk in his cup and levitated the rest of it back into the icebox. "Feeling rough?"

"A bit," Harry admitted.

"I thought you might after last night," Oliver replied with a cheeky wink.

The gesture made Harry blush and he wondered again if something had happened between them that he should remember, but he didn't know how to ask. Knowing Oliver was a fellow Gryffindor, he thought bluntness might be the key, and the most appreciative tactic he could take. "About last night," he began and Oliver beamed and purred, pulling his chair up next to Harry and running his cool fingers along Harry's thigh.

"Yes?" he asked. "I was wondering when the compliments would begin."

Harry's throat constricted harshly and he nearly choked on his tea. "I…um…did we…"

"Oh yes," Oliver replied with a languid nod and leaned in to run his tongue along the shell of Harry's ear. The touch made him shudder, but he was horrified by the implication. He hadn't even had his first kiss with Oliver yet, but apparently last night they'd done a good deal more and Harry couldn't even remember it. "You were fantastic," he breathed.

"Er…thanks," Harry stammered. "You were too," he lied and Oliver chuckled and pulled away from him.

"We didn't do anything, Harry," he laughed. "You were too pissed to even move. I slept on the couch."

"All night?" Harry balked, feeling returning to his limbs as he realized he hadn't had sex with Oliver after all. He shouldn't have doubted it really; he suspected that when he and Oliver finally made love, it would be _very_ memorable. "You could have shared the bed with me, or even slept in the guest room if you weren't comfortable with that."

Oliver shrugged, a sort of graceful movement that reminded him of Draco. "I'd only ever been here a couple times and I didn't want to go snooping around your house. I thought the sofa slept just fine."

"Well, it seems I have a lot to make up to you," Harry noted. "My jealousy last night, my childish, drunken behavior, and now your poor sleeping arrangements. I'm a terrible boyfriend," he pouted, moving over to plant himself in the Keeper's lap as he pressed kiss after kiss along the man's jaw.

"Mmmm," he sighed and leaned into the affection, "You can mess up as often as you like, if this is how you apologize."

Harry chuckled and looked into Oliver's eyes, wondering if his Eagle Eye Charm was wearing off, because his vision was almost as hazy as it would be without his glasses. Still, he could read the lust in those dark eyes well enough and leaned in to accept his very first kiss from Oliver…when the doorbell suddenly rang, sounding far louder than it should.

He pulled away abruptly and sighed, shooting his boyfriend an apologetic look as he padded over to the door, yanking it open. His frustration melted immediately when he saw Draco standing on the other side, and suddenly Harry didn't hate the sunlight because of the glittering effect it had in Malfoy's blond locks.

"Malfoy," he whispered. "What are you doing here?" Having him and Oliver in the same room didn't seem like the best idea, and he was sure Oliver would get the wrong impression…or the right one for that matter.

"Last night," he growled, and Harry was surprised he hadn't noticed the anger boiling off of the blond like a wave of heat. "What in Merlin's name was that?"

"I don't know what you mean," Harry replied innocently.

"Bullocks," Draco spat. "You were staring at me all night long. You made my date very anxious; I had to reassure him all evening that there was nothing going on between you and I. Why is that, Potter?" he hissed.

"Because I have a boyfriend," Harry replied with a roll of his eyes.

Draco looked confused for a moment and then shook his head in frustration. "I know why there is nothing going on between us, I'm asking why you were acting as if you were jealous?"

"Because I was," Harry admitted with a flush of his cheeks. "I am," he added. "I don't know why, I just-" But Harry got no more out before Draco's lips were crashing into his and his tongue was sliding, probing and tasting every inch of him.

Harry melted into the kiss, feathering his fingers through Draco's soft hair and sinking into the man's embrace, all the while ignoring the niggling in the back of his mind that tried to remind him that this wasn't right, and that they had company.

He was reminded thoroughly enough in the next moment when a pair of strong hands wrapped around his arms and tore him away from Draco's mouth. Harry whimpered at the loss, but his eyes soon settled on his boyfriend and a wave of guilt squashed all the lust Draco had built within him just a moment ago. "I'm sorry," he whispered while Oliver just stood there and stared at him with wide, furious eyes.

"I'm not going to lose you to a Slytherin," he hissed at last, and pulled Harry's face to his, kissing Harry himself and matching Draco passion for passion. Harry groaned at the delicious violence and possession of the kiss, making his knees weak with desire. Just when he thought he might drown from it, he felt another body press against him, lining itself along his back and attacking his earlobe from behind.

He gasped into Oliver's mouth and writhed between the two fit bodies. This was bliss, sheer and unadulterated bliss. Oliver snarled and tried to pull Harry away from Draco's form on the other side, but Draco kept shifting, as if anticipating every tug, and managed to sink back against Harry's body as if he'd never moved at all.

"He's mine," Oliver snarled when he couldn't seem to rid Harry of Draco's presence.

"No, he's mine," Draco challenged, his own voice level and purring into Harry's ear like a lover's breath.

"Boys, boys," Harry gasped, not wanting to lose the feel of either of them, "there is plenty of ol' Harry to go around."

Oliver and Draco shared a look over his head, both skeptical, both scathing, but eventually they seemed to have reached a silent agreement and Harry was lost once more in a sea of hot flesh and even hotter kisses.

He didn't know how he had made it up to the bedroom, but suddenly he felt cool sheets brush his skin where tangled limbs did not. Legs clung around him, hands groped and rubbed, lips kissed and teeth bit and tongues stroked and Harry was crying out his pleasure into the air. He took a moment to try and orient himself, but it was so hard. Draco was somewhere below him, preparing his arse for the delicious cock that bobbed enticingly near his entrance. Harry could feel the sharp thrust of Draco's long fingers and nearly sobbed at how good it felt being stretched out by this hauntingly beautiful man.

Oliver, in stark contrast, looked feral as he leaned in and took Harry's cock into his mouth, his chest leaning partially on Harry's stomach as he maneuvered the best place to attack from. Oliver's mouth was heaven, velvet and satin and silk, all woven together in erotic harmony that made Harry buck and thrust into it with wanton abandon.

The moment Draco entered him, everything changed. The bed, the walls, the floor, it all melted away and it felt like Harry was hovering in the center of his own orgasm. Lips, tongue, cock, all drove him into madness and then Harry was coming more violently than he'd ever climaxed in his entire life.

His screams seemed hollow in his own ears, as he clutched the sheets around him and shouted both their names. Panting through the last shuddering throes of his orgasm, Harry looked up to see what lasting damage had been done between he and Oliver and Draco and found the room empty of both of them.

He felt a moment of panic, wondering if they'd both just left him there alone, but then the other details of the room met his awareness, such as the fact he was still wearing his clothes from the pub the night before and that his sheets, and trousers were very, very sticky. He groaned and fell back to his pillow, wondering how his dreams and imagination had gotten so far out of hand to manufacture a blissful threesome between he, Oliver, and Draco.

Still, as thoroughly debauched as he felt without ever being touched, Harry knew two things that he wasn't willing to admit before now. One, Harry was uncontrollably attracted to Draco Malfoy, even though he had no right to be, and two, Oliver was going to be pissed. But how could Harry keep leading Oliver on, knowing he had feelings for another man as well? Not that he could go leap into Draco's arms, because the guilt worked both ways, but he couldn't make his relationship with Oliver progress if he kept fantasizing about Draco. He just needed to break things off with both of them until he could figure things out and make a decision.

Besides, Draco had made it fairly clear that he wasn't interested. He'd been on a date when Harry saw him last, and looked to be getting very cozy with the other man. A flash of green entered his vision again, but this time it was from a tall, thin vial beside his bed. Harry looked over and saw a note propped up against the potion and pulled it to him.

_My dearest Harry,_

_You've had quite the eventful evening tonight, and a tad too much to drink, so I think you'll appreciate the hangover potion I've left by the bed for you. _

_I hope you're feeling better soon and I had fun with you last night. Owl me when you feel up to having company. I'd love to see you later today if you're well enough. _

_Love,_

_Olli_

Harry smiled, and couldn't help the feeling of warmth and love that settled over him from Oliver's sweet gesture. Already his headache seemed to be subsiding and he hadn't even taken the potion yet.

So what if Harry was attracted to Draco? Plenty of people were probably attracted to the man, Ginny included - and she was a happily married woman. And didn't Harry have the right to be happy, and not conflicted over whether or not Draco wanted him? Oliver made him happy, and he was a spectacular bloke and together they had the potential for a perfect future. Why give all that up because of one silly dream?

Harry sighed and clutched the note in one hand and the potion in the other. This was what he needed, someone who loved him and took care of him and told him when he was being an arse. Oliver was the man he needed, so Harry just had to ignore the fact that he thought Draco Malfoy was sex on legs. Oliver was probably attracted to other blokes too, but it didn't mean that either of them had to _do_ anything about it.

He would be careful from now on, and do whatever he could to make his feelings toward Malfoy subside. It should be easy enough now that Draco was happily dating someone else too, taking him off the market for Harry altogether, and because they were barely friends to begin with.

Yes, he would be happy, he would be Oliver's and the world would finally make sense.

Any minute now.

Author's Note: Well, I hope I sufficiently tricked some of you. I know a lot of you have been wanting Draco to find someone who would make Harry jealous, what you probably didn't realize is that I'd already written it! I've had this chapter written since right around chapter 4…. Anyhow, I hope this taste of smut will tide you over a bid until the real thing in, I don't know, 8 chapters... lol And, if you aren't signed up for Author alerts, I've posted enother oneshot called House of Masks.


	18. Bending

Author's Note: Shout to MaraSil, whose line from her review of chapter 11 I swiped for this chapter. It was just too funny to discard. *grin Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far.

Chapter 18 Bending

Any minute now never came.

It was possible that Harry didn't give it enough time, but after taking the hangover potion Oliver had left him, showering, and keeping down two slices of whole grain toast, Harry still couldn't manage to get his heart and mind to agree. Logic dictated that he had one man - a fine man - that wanted to have him and hold him for the rest of his life. Oliver was kind, thoughtful, patient, funny and would make a wonderful husband and father. It seemed ridiculous to even be thinking about letting that go for something completely unknown. But his heart argued that Draco was all of these things as well, but he was more than that too.

Draco made him fly.

Harry shook his head, feeling as gooey as he had the day Draco wrote the words on a scrap of parchment - the day they had gone on something that Harry could no longer deny was a date. If it looked like a date, swam like a date and quacked like a date, well…. It was a date for Harry anyhow, and he was determined to find out once and for all what it had been for Draco. A test? A ploy to get him into bed? Something more, something less? He knew he couldn't let this go, couldn't begin to think about his life with Oliver, not until he had closure with Draco.

He got dressed, selecting nicer robes than he normally would have if he were stepping out to see anyone else, and Apparated to Draco's doorstep. He was done playing games. He wanted his questions answered, he deserved them and he wasn't going to stop until he had them. He was a famous Auror, he was good looking and clever and charming, he'd battled a Dark Wizard at the age of eleven for Merlin's sake. He could certainly get answers out of one, perfectly harmless, bloke.

Without any further hesitation, Harry knocked on the door, determination thrumming through his veins, and steeled himself when he heard movement on the other side. The door opened, and all that fortitude fell away from him as if he'd been doused in icy water.

"Mr. Potter?" the man on the other side greeted curiously. Harry recognized him as the man from the bar the night before, which would have been a horrid enough discovery, but that, coupled with the fact that Alston was only wearing a pair of wrinkled boxers made him nearly heave the dry toast he'd had for breakfast all over Draco's gleaming stoop. "Draco didn't tell me he was expecting company this morning."

"He wasn't," Harry managed to get out. "I just needed to talk to him."

Alston looked at him curiously and then his eyes shot wide. "Am I getting in the middle of something here? I thought you were dating Oliver Wood. It's been all over the papers this week."

"I am," Harry confirmed, rather guiltily. "I needed to see him about that, actually." Alston looked skeptical, and for a moment Harry worried that he was going to run to the press with what he thought he knew, but Harry didn't care. He couldn't be there anymore, he couldn't watch this man, who answered Draco's door as if he lived there, and think about what they'd likely done the night before. "Can you just tell him I stopped by?" Harry asked, but he didn't wait for the answer. He just turned and walked away, as swiftly as his legs would carry him, back to the alley.

His heart was cracking down the middle, severing away the part that Draco had stolen without his permission. That half - and if Harry was being honest with himself he'd notice it was well over half –crumbled up like stiff paper and seemed to light on fire while it was still in his chest. Harry could feel the fire singe through him, leaving him hollow and wanting. Even when he felt a hand on his shoulder, he didn't turn around right away. He hardly had the care to bother acknowledging it. It had been a bad idea to come over. It had been foolish to even think about Draco in an amorous way. Harry had known it all along, but he'd been too stubborn to listen to his own advice, and now he was paying the consequences.

"Harry, would you look at me?"

It still took a moment for the words to break through the fog in his mind, but eventually, Harry heard the angel voice of the man he'd been lying to himself about. He turned to face Draco, not even sure what else the man had said that he hadn't heard. "Harry, what are you doing here?" he asked, looking slightly panicked.

"I-I came to ask…but then there was…him…and," Harry stammered, unable to get the rest out in his increasingly pained state of mind. He must have looked like a madman, just staring blankly at Draco as if he'd never seen the blond before, completely unable to form coherent sentences.

"You saw Alston," he said, not so much a question as an observation.

"Yeah," Harry breathed. "I did." Draco opened his mouth to reply, but Harry cut him off. "He seems nice. Not good enough for you, of course, but nice," Harry told him, trying to regain some of his footing, searching for the determined man who had fled him when Draco's door opened.

"Why did you come?" Draco asked, his voice cold and distant. "Did we have an appointment I forgot about?"

"No," Harry admitted.

"Then what?"

"I wanted to ask…needed to know…but I think I understand now," Harry sighed. "I was just being daft."

"How were you being daft?" Draco asked, his voice warming as he took a step closer to Harry, pulling him by the elbow into the alley so they wouldn't be so easily observed.

"I thought that you liked me," Harry whispered and once he said the words he didn't think he could stop. "I've felt so close, so connected and I thought that you felt it too, but it seems I was, once again, completely mistaken in my observations. Why is it that I can catch a criminal who left nothing more than a faint magical signature behind, but I can't understand the motives of someone I lo- care about?"

Harry knew he was ranting, scribbling further proof in the column that deemed him crazy, but he didn't care. Part of his determination was coming back, only in a more frantic, unwoven way. Draco just stared back at him with wide, unblinking gray eyes, and Harry wanted to shake him, demand that he answer the question he had yet to ask.

"What am I to you, Draco?" Harry hissed at last.

Draco opened his mouth to say a thousand things, but nothing Harry wanted to hear left the blond's his lips. "You are a very important client," he said at last, twisting the knife Harry hadn't realized was still lodged in his chest. "As soon as I've accomplished what I promised you, I'll be moving away, so it's better not to get too attached."

"I see," Harry whispered and turned away from Draco with finality thrumming through his bones. He wasted no time in Apparating from Draco's side, before the man could witness him shatter to pieces.

* * *

"Fuck!" Draco screamed at the top of his lungs, stretching out the word until breath failed him and negating all sense of privacy he'd had in the alleyway. The bags of food he'd been carrying – breakfast for he and Alston – were strewn across the grimy stone floor of the alley, tossed in a fit of frustration he hadn't been able to control. He didn't seem to have any control when it came to Harry and that fact was going to drive him straight to St. Mungo's if he wasn't careful.

His body shivered with rage and confusion, his teeth clattering from it as he tried to calm himself down. Any pleasure from Harry being clearly jealous about Alston had fled the moment Draco saw how hurt Harry was. It shouldn't have mattered, because he'd been forced into Oliver's company on too many occasions now, which would have made Harry's stumbling upon Alston in his flat more than fair.

If Harry had been anyone else.

A grating pressure coursed through him, as if someone was scrubbing harshly at the inside of his skin with steel wool. It was the same feeling he'd gotten just moments after kissing Harry and breaking his vows to the powerful magic he'd invoked. It reminded him that Harry wasn't his to pet and coddle, that Harry belonged to another and it wasn't Draco's job to make Harry feel warm and fuzzy, it was Oliver's.

It was this feeling that had spurned his hateful words to Harry earlier. The pain came as a helpful reminder that Draco was merely a helpless bystander to Harry and Oliver's relationship. He had to put space between them, which was why he started dating Alston to begin with.

Draco would have to be strong, he would have to resist the urge he had to hold the Gryffindor close and promise that everything would be all right. Perhaps this was what he needed to move on, both of them really. If Draco put the right amount of distance between them, Harry could marry Oliver without a guilty conscience and Draco could move on with his life.

Besides, before discovering that Harry was his soul mate, Draco was prepared to acknowledge that there was a very good chance that he'd spend the rest of his life alone. Once Harry was married off, it should be easy to go back to that disposition. He'd date men that he knew weren't the one, just as he had before. He'd seek their bodies and their company until he tired of them, just as he had before. He knew that game; he knew the rules and how to manipulate it all in his favor, which was significantly better than this game he had with Harry. He'd continue Harry's lessons, speed them up if needed, and kill his feelings for the man the moment he walked down the aisle.

Just a few more weeks. That's all he would need to endure this pain.

* * *

Harry took a couple hours to regroup before he Apparated to the Puddlemere pitch. The same guards were there as before, but this time they let Harry through with minimal fuss. He quickly made his way onto the grassy grounds where he stood in the shadows and watched Oliver block one of his Chaser's goals. He calmed himself by gazing up at his graceful boyfriend as they ran play after play.

He'd been an arse for thinking about Malfoy in any other capacity than Slytherin and prat. Even friend seemed to push the envelope too far. In fact, Harry wondered if Malfoy was even capable of having friends at all, or if he just remained civil to people who could serve some beneficial purpose.

Harry knew it was silly – he was paying the Slytherin for his services after all – but still, part of Harry had felt used at learning that he was nothing more to the blond than a hefty pay check and a chance at the largest publicity opportunity available. He should have known better all along. Draco's flirtations were simply part of the man's personality, nothing more. Part of him might have even been attracted to Harry's fame or power, but it was pretty clear that he wasn't attracted to anything else about him. Malfoy would be looking for the big payoff, and the even bigger boost to his career when Harry and Oliver wed and gave the Slytherin permission to take all the credit.

Which reminded him that he hadn't told Oliver anything about it yet. He should certainly tell his boyfriend about the arrangement with Draco before news of it hit the papers and Oliver found out that way instead. He wondered how his boyfriend would take the news, and hoped that it would go over smoothly. Harry felt more confident that it would now that it was clear there was nothing going on between he and Draco. In fact, the explanation of why they'd been spending so much time together might serve to ease some of Oliver's worries about the blond.

Harry winced when reality crashed into him and he realized that Oliver might not take it well at all. Harry had no idea how he would feel if Oliver had been getting secret dating instructions. Even when he actively tried to imagine Oliver telling him that, Harry still couldn't manage to form an opinion about it.

"Oi, Harry!" Oliver shouted. Harry had been so lost in thought that he hadn't even seen the players pause in their practice. "What a pleasant surprise!"

"I was hoping you might have some time to spend with me today?" Harry asked, beaming up at Oliver. Whenever he had his boyfriend smiling down on him, his troubles with Draco seemed to melt away.

"I can cut this lot loose early," Oliver said. "You could have me for the rest of the day."

"Brilliant," Harry replied, his pleasure quite evident. He could use a distraction today and some alone time with Oliver was sure to keep him from over analyzing his relationship – or lack thereof – with Draco Malfoy.

"I'll go shower and change and I'll meet you here in a quarter hour," the Scot promised and swooped off to tell his team they could take the rest of the day off. Harry smiled to himself in spite of the rotten morning he'd had. Perhaps he should thank the blond, Harry now felt like he had a sense of closure on that front, so maybe Harry's little revelation had been for the best.

* * *

It took exactly three minutes before the media bombarded Harry and Oliver, leaving their dinner to grow cold as they attempted to answer the reporter's question, hoping they would eventually tire and go away. When that didn't work, Harry threw some money on the table and Apparated he and Oliver to a beautiful park in Muggle London.

"I come here to escape them sometimes," Harry admitted when they'd both caught their balance. "I really don't like being a celebrity."

"I guessed that about you," Oliver replied with a soft smile. "I sort of don't mind it though. It's been nice opening the paper and seeing you and I together on the cover."

Harry laughed, unable to hide the fact that he'd had the opposite reaction to that very same thing. "I never really thought of it like that," he murmured. "I suppose it would help things if I did."

Olive shrugged and laced his fingers through Harry's as they walked along the trail. "I think it will all die down soon enough. It's just big news in a world with nothing interesting to comment on."

"Hm," Harry mused aloud, "maybe I should drum up a new Dark Lord to take their minds off of us."

"That was a joke, right?" Oliver asked, pausing slightly in his long stride to glance at Harry.

"Of course," Harry muttered before pursing his lips. "It's not as though I hate being seen with you or anything, it's just that I like my life to be private."

"And yet you've chosen to be the most famous Auror and date a famous Quidditch star," Oliver reasoned.

"I'm not famous by my own choosing," Harry protested. "Even if I lost every single case, people would still know my name because of Voldemort."

"But you don't lose every case, Harry. When are you going to realize that popularity hasn't been thrust upon you? You've earned it with all the good deeds you've done throughout your entire life. It's nothing to shy away from, it's only natural for people to love someone so lovable," Oliver offered with a grin.

The words made Harry blush furiously and look down at his feet. Was Oliver saying that he loved him? Harry searched his mind for something to say in return, but nothing came. He was very fond of Oliver and he could see himself loving the man, very soon actually, but he hadn't fallen yet and he was adamantly against professing feelings before he truly felt them. He'd made that mistake with Ginny and vowed never to do it again.

In the end, it didn't seem to matter what Harry's reply was, because Oliver pressed forward on his own. "I don't want to end up closed away inside when we're together because of your aversion to the press, Harry. I like the theatre, I like going out to dinner, I enjoy going to watch other Quidditch teams play, and I'd especially like to do all those things with you."

Harry sighed and squeezed his boyfriend's hand within his own. "I promise to get better," he offered. "But for tonight, can we have our first, real, alone date…alone?"

"Of course," Oliver replied with a beautiful smile.

Harry's breath caught, and he realized that this was the moment. This was the perfect time and place to kiss his boyfriend and show the man what he meant to Harry. The sky was beginning to darken, casting the city in an amber glow from the nearby buildings. The air was cool and perfect for snuggling, and everything around him seemed to buzz with energy. His skin was humming, his mind and heart finally in unison and Oliver was standing there, his lips wet and parted and seemingly expectant.

This was a man who cared about him, who respected him and who understood him, and now, he was without any competition for Harry's heart. There was nothing holding them back anymore, not even the smirking image of Draco Malfoy.

When Harry leaned in, he knew it was right. The much-anticipated first kiss was everything it should have been; soft, yet insistent, patient, yet hungry and it left Harry with a simmering heat in his gut that couldn't be doused. His arms found their way around Oliver's waist and Oliver's long fingers trailed up and down Harry's back as they melted into one another in that lovely, desolate park. No one interrupted them, no one took their picture, it was just Harry and Oliver and the moon.

This was how it would be for the rest of their lives and Harry was content in that knowledge.

When Oliver pulled away, only far enough to be able to see Harry properly, he was breathless and panting. "Wow," he whispered. "That was definitely worth the wait."

Harry grinned and nodded as he lifted one of his hands from Oliver's waist to run it through the man's dark hair. "It was as special as I wanted it to be."

Oliver closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to Harry's, their cold noses brushing slightly from the movement. "Harry, I love you," he whispered; to which Harry could only swallow thickly. "You don't have to say anything back," Oliver added. "I'm not saying it so that I can hear it in return. I'm saying it because it's true, and I thought you should know."

Harry sighed, his breath mingling with Oliver's and forming a fog in the crisp night air. "I'm close, Olli," Harry replied, because he knew he had to say something truthful. "I'm very close."

Oliver's only response was to kiss him again, and Harry was grateful for the ability to not have to think too hard. It was easy to get lost in the feel of Oliver's lips, and as Oliver pulled Harry closer, as if trying to absorb him, Harry realized how true his words had been.

He was closer to falling in love with Oliver than he'd thought possible just hours before. Now that a certain blond Slytherin was entirely out of the picture, Harry's life seemed solid and strong, and no longer bending in the wind like a wispy branch.

And he had Malfoy to thank for that.

Author's Note: I know, I know, get on with the Drarry snogging already, but I must refrain in honor of giving you all the story you deserve. You'll just have to grin and wait. Happiness will come eventually. Anyhow, what kind of obstacle would Oliver be if Harry wasn't fond of him?


	19. Breaking

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work and thanks to all who have reviewed so far! The story is officially finished now, so expect regular updates from here on out.

Chapter 19 Breaking

The air was filled with the sound of clanking glasses and merry voices and Harry's smile couldn't have been brighter. Oliver stood at Harry's side, one arm wound loosely around the brunet's waist and the other holding a mug of warm apple cider. The smell of cinnamon lingered through the air and Harry sighed happily, snuggling into his boyfriend's embrace.

"They seem happy," Hermione observed from nearby as Harry and Oliver engaged in a quiet debate with Ron about the strategic principles of Quidditch.

"If Harry _seems_ happy, I'm sure he _is_ happy," Neville replied, his hand sitting possessively at the small of his wife's back.

Hermione leveled her husband with a gaze that clearly meant she didn't agree in the slightest, but even she knew better than to overtly interfere with the couple. Strong magic would prevent her from doing anything that might break Harry and Oliver up. That much she understood implicitly about the magic Draco invoked, though he refused to tell her much more about it, such as the specifics of the spell or the incantation used.

Until last night.

She had been leery when she first received the owl from Draco, summoning her to his flat in London. She was still irked by the news that he'd been toying with her friend's emotions, playing with him as if Harry were a puppet made for Draco's amusement alone. She had thought about confronting the man about it directly, but her husband had warned her off, reminding her how angry Harry would be if she meddled and embarrassed him.

Still, Hermione had trouble getting the night Harry had come to Hogwarts, frantic for advice, out of her mind. It wasn't often that she saw her best friend, a grown man and skilled Auror, so flustered over a man. Even in his early relationships, Harry always had a stoic, matter-of-fact way of dealing with things, even when his heart got broken. So this new development worried her quite a bit, and though she held to her promise of butting out, her mind didn't allow her much rest.

In that respect, the note from Draco was a blessing, because it gave her an excuse to find out what in Merlin's name was going on. However, it also brought up deeper questions, because Draco didn't seek her out often, not even when they were slated to teach together. She suspected Malfoy still harbored a deep-rooted reluctance to let her prove that Muggle-Borns were just as good as purebloods.

When she arrived at his flat, she'd expected to see the man who showed up at Hogwarts with an air of authority and grace, but what she'd found was much different. If she had thought Harry seemed frazzled weeks before, it was nothing compared to the way Draco Malfoy looked that night. Clothed in wrinkled robes that looked fresh from the floor, Draco came to the door looking unshaven and distressed. Hermione had never seen him such a mess and whatever snide words she'd been ready to deliver in Harry's honor, fell immediately from her lips.

"Dear gods, Draco, what's happened to you?" she asked, pulling him into his own flat and setting him in a chair by the fire. Draco stared blankly into the roaring hearth for a long moment before looking up into Hermione chocolate brown eyes and cringing.

"Harry has," he whispered simply. "I thought I could ignore it, I thought I could appease the magicks and still help him, but I can't Hermione. I can't."

"Tell me," she directed, seeing that he needed to get something off of his chest at once.

"I don't know what they will let me say," he whispered, sounding like a delusional madman. For a moment, Hermione wondered if Harry had sought his own revenge and planted some Paranoia Potion in his tea, but surely Draco was too clever to fall for something like that. "I thought they might let me show you though."

Hermione nodded slowly and felt a smidgeon of fear at the wild light in Draco's eyes. The house was a mess, and a glance into the kitchen showed several empty vials, so he'd been taking something quite often. "Alright, but first, how about you tell me what these are?" she suggested, standing and gesturing to the discarded potion vials.

"Dreamless draughts, Pepper Up Potions, anything I can get to make me sleep at night and keep me up during the day," he rasped.

"Draco," she hissed, rounding on him. "You're a Potions Master, you know better than to mix uppers with downers so often. No wonder you're buzzing around here like a broken humming bird."

"They won't let me sleep, no matter what I do, and when I start to doze they wake me up with images of him, Hermione. I have to do something. I have to have him or be rid of him once and for all!" he shouted, making Hermione take a tentative step back.

"How about you show me what you wanted me to see," she offered, keeping the fear from her voice. If this continued, she was worried that she would have to have him committed to St. Mungo's ward for review.

He nodded curtly and stood, leading her up to what appeared to be a study, although the room was currently in disarray. "I've tried every match I can think of, but he doesn't seem to have a second that I can find."

"Who doesn't?" she asked.

"Oliver," Draco replied gruffly, pulling out a set of parchments and laying them on the desk side by side.

"Why are you trying to match Oliver? He's already matched with Harry," she whispered, narrowing her eyes.

"So am I," he replied, but he began clawing at his own throat as if something was strangling him and he was trying to break free. "They won't let me tell you. They won't let me tell anyone," he said in a half-sob. "It's driving me mad."

"Clearly," Hermione huffed. "But who is 'they'?"

"The magicks, the gods, the ones that give life to my spells," he replied.

"Draco, that sounds like a bunch of religious mumbo jumbo. I understand the Merlinism and everything, but do you honestly believe that there are people in the sky controlling our magic?" she scoffed. She's come across her fair share of fanatics who believed just that, but she didn't suspect Draco to be one of them.

"I didn't used to, not really," he admitted, "but I didn't believe I had a match either, and look," he added, pointing to the two papers on the far right of the desk. One was labeled with Draco's name; the one next to it with Harry's and on the left side was Oliver's. "So you're both matched to Harry," she gleaned from his demonstration. "What does that mean exactly?"

"Remember how I told you that if anyone interfered with you and Longbottom's bond, that a fate worse than death would befall them?" he asked.

"Of course," she replied. She'd absorbed everything Draco had told her about the magic he used, which unfortunately wasn't much.

"Well, I'm living that fate," Draco told her. "I matched Harry and Wood together, only I was already falling for Harry," he sighed, swallowing more often than seemed necessary. He kept taking huge, gasping breaths as if he was preparing for a long rant, but only a few words would escape, and even those seemed forced from his lips. "I did the test on myself, and Harry matched with me as well."

"Why would you even do that?" she huffed. "From what I hear, you've been a right arse to Harry."

"I lo-" he began, but choked so hard Hermione had to slap him on the back to try and clear his airways.

"Draco, what is going on?!" she demanded.

"Watch," Draco replied as he lifted his wand and held it over the parchments bearing his and Harry's names. She took note of the incantation, and watched closely as the colors of the spell twirled and twisted to become pure white light. Then a woman's voice broke through the light, sounding like twinkling bells.

"This is a pure bond," it said. "The love you would share would be passionate and true, free of hardship and pain. Your souls are complimentary, and should you choose to move forward, they would remain intertwined long after death."

Hermione gasped at the implications, her eyes widening in horror. "You're Harry's soul mate, and he's yours," she whispered painfully and Draco nodded at last, falling into his desk chair as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. "But you can't tell him, or act on it, because you matched him with Oliver first."

"Exactly," Draco sighed, seeming to return to his old self a bit. "I knew you were clever enough for this."

"How do you know, though?" she asked. "Maybe the magicks would overlook you because you're soul mates!"

Draco shook his head gravely and looked at the floor. "I kissed him," Draco sighed, clearly remembering every moment of it by the smile on his face. But just as quickly as it had appeared, it was eclipsed by a frown. "I almost died that night. I woke up a day and half later with pain still coursing through my body."

"Oh, Draco, this is terrible. What are you going to do?" she asked, regretting it immediately when his gaze went expectantly to hers.

"I was hoping you might help. I can't tell him, the magicks won't let me, but you might be able to," he explained. "I don't know for sure, mind you, but I thought it was worth a try."

"I don't know," she sighed, suddenly worried about the wrath of gods she didn't believe in moments before. "Harry seems happy with Oliver."

"I'm sure he is," Draco replied. "Wood is his golden match, after all. But think of how much happier he might be with me." When Hermione bit into her bottom lip, Draco knew that showed more than anything how indecisive she was, so he pushed. "Hermione, I lo..love him," he gasped out, wincing in pain even as he uttered the words. He nearly fell out of his chair from the blow the magicks dealt him for his blasphemy.

Hermione nodded her head rapidly, a stray tear running down her cheek and walked toward the study door. "Alright," she agreed. "I'll try. But if you so much as hurt a single hair on his head, Draco Malfoy, it won't be the gods you have to worry about coming after you. Do you hear me?"

Draco nodded, and offered Hermione a soft smile. "I feel better already, knowing I have someone on my side."

"Get well, Draco, and stop taking so many potions," she lectured. "It's making you even crazier than you already are."

"I promise," Draco replied and then she was gone, because she could no longer bear the sight of the illustrious and strong Draco Malfoy in such a sad mess. She worried though, that if the magicks had gone to such a degree to stop him from speaking a word of it to Harry, how she might be able to help.

Seeing Harry at the Christmas party now, how blissful he looked in Oliver's arms, she wondered if she had been right to agree to help Draco. Could she really break this up? Could she accept the blame if Harry split from Oliver and was unhappy with Draco? She had told Neville everything about what she'd discovered, including that Draco had looked affright and was taking bad doses of potions. Though Neville had reacted most to the issue of Draco being Harry's soul mate but unable to tell the man. Neville's stance had still been to stay out of it. Harry was in charge of his life, not his friends, and they shouldn't intrude. Hermione had adamantly rejected that, citing that if Harry made a huge mistake and married Oliver when his soul mate was within reach, it would fall on their shoulders if they knew and said nothing.

But now that she had Harry in her grasp, smiling pleasantly up at his boyfriend, she wasn't sure she could keep her promise to Draco.

"What are you two over here whispering about?" Ginny asked as she slinked over to stand next to her friends. He gaze followed Hermione's and she frowned. "Bugger," she huffed. "We're going to lose, aren't we?"

"Hermione," Neville warned the moment he saw the wild gleam in her eyes, indicating she'd had one of her brilliant epiphanies that would likely get the entire lot of them into trouble.

"Nev, this is perfect," she replied, beaming so brightly her husband was forced to wince. "I can't do it, but Gin can!"

"What can I do?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"You can tell Harry that Malfoy is his soul mate," Hermione replied, pressing her temples to ward off the sudden headache that erupted through her skull. She swallowed thickly, feeling suddenly nauseas and excused herself before making a beeline to the loo.

"This is why I didn't want her to say anything," Neville sighed. "Gran's told me about magic like this, and trying to defy it can leave lasting damage to your magic or even death. If I were you, I wouldn't get mixed up in this, Gin," Neville advised before running off after his wife.

It took her a second to piece together what Hermione and Neville had been talking about, but suddenly it all made sense, especially when paired with what Clive had told her about his late night conversation with Draco a few weeks before. Not only were Harry and Draco matched as well, like Clive had explained, they were a better match than Harry had with Oliver. Soul mates. The words seemed foreign to her ears. Every girl dreamed of finding theirs, but they were so rare, especially in pureblood matches.

But, of course, blind and stubborn Harry had no idea that his perfect mate was right in front of him all along. Clive had mentioned that Draco hadn't told Harry about it, both because Harry hadn't wanted to know, and because Draco didn't think he _could _tell him. If the magic her Slytherin friend used to create these dating contracts was really as old and powerful as she suspected, then even she would find it impossible to tell Harry in such a direct manner as Hermione had wanted.

"Wait!" she shouted after them, striding down the corridor as fast as she could without stumbling in her heels. "You can't tell me something like that and then just leave! What am I supposed to do?!"

"Do about what, Gin?" asked a voice from behind her and she twirled around, nearly crashing into Harry and Oliver as she did.

"Er," she replied lamely. "Harry, I think I need to speak to you," she said at last. "Alone."

Oliver looked mildly confused but didn't argue. He merely shrugged and pressed a kiss to Harry's forehead. "I'll be over there with Ron," he told his boyfriend before making a hasty exit.

"That was sort of rude, Gin," Harry chastised when Oliver was out of earshot.

"Sorry," she replied, but it was clear by her pursed lips that she didn't mean it. "You really need to know this though."

"Know what?" Harry asked impatiently.

"You need to know that you and Draco are-" she began, but Harry cut her off with a hiss, slicing his hand through the air as if it would cut off her supply.

"No," he snarled. "You will not start this again, Ginny. Do you hear me? I'm done with Draco Malfoy and his hot and cold nonsense. I shouldn't have ever let you convince me he was different. He's not. He's just as cruel as ever and I will not waste any more time on him. Understood?"

"He's not cruel," she corrected, feeling slightly desperate. "He just doesn't know how to express himself."

"Well, he's had plenty of opportunities," Harry huffed. "It's his own fault if he'd incapable of relating such a basic human emotion. I asked him point blank if he wanted something more from me, and all he ever offered in return was silence. I'm done, Gin. I'm done with Draco and his stupid lessons."

"Why don't you ask him to show you the magic," Hermione suggested, coming up behind Ginny. She placed a hand on the redhead's arm to steady herself, and she looked weak and pale, but she couldn't keep silent on this. Not now that she knew all the variables. "Ask Draco to explain the way the spell works, and have him show you the matches he's made."

"I don't need to know how the spell works," Harry sighed, completely exasperated with his pushy friends. "Besides, Mione, I thought you were on my side here, not Malfoys."

"I'm still on your side, Harry. Trust me, you need to ask him about the spell." She wobbled slightly on her feet and Ginny shifted her so that she could find a place for them to sit.

"Are you okay, Mione?" Harry asked, concern flooding over him at last. All thoughts of spells and matches and Malfoy were long forgotten as he helped Ginny ease her into an armchair by the fire.

"I don't know," she replied honestly. "But I need you to promise me you'll ask him."

"I'm not talking about Malfoy anymore," Harry hissed.

Hermione leveled him with her best impression of a stern Professor McGonagall face and locked her jaw. "Stop being a stubborn arse, Harry. He lov-" The words died abruptly on her lips as she clawed at her cloak to try and get the air being denied her. Ginny panicked and ran for Neville, while Harry cast charm after charm trying to seek out the problem but the spells detected nothing wrong. "St. Mungo's," she gasped out, and Harry nodded, leaning down to scoop his friend up before Apparating directly into the hospital lobby.

"She needs help!" Harry shouted, and two medi-witches ran over to take Hermione's gasping form from his arms. "She can't breathe, I don't know why!"

A moment later, Neville and Ginny arrived, followed closely by Ron, Luna and Oliver. "I know why," Neville said as he followed the healers into one of the examination rooms. The rest were forced to take a seat and wait.

Oliver was at Harry's side in an instant, rubbing his arms in wide, circular motions, but Harry couldn't manage to relax. "Would someone please tell me what's going on here," he growled after spying Ginny whispering something to Luna.

"We can't tell you or else we'll end up just like her," Ginny hissed, completely fed up with Harry's obtuseness. "You're just going to have to open your bloody eyes!" she shouted before Apparating away with Clive in tow.

Harry blinked, unsure what in Merlin's name had just happened, and how he could possibly be blamed for whatever plagued Hermione. He knew his friends were withholding information from him and that alone irritated him to no end, but if it was affecting his best friend's health, he certainly deserved to know.

When the doors to the lobby opened, and a certain blond Slytherin stormed in, Harry lost his mind. "You!" he growled, pointing his wand in Draco's direction as he stalked over. "This is all your fault, I know it!"

"It is, and I'm sorry. Is she okay?" he asked, desperation and fear in his eyes.

The question took Harry by surprise, and he faltered slightly, lowering his wand. He'd been angry, ready to accuse the Slytherin of his friend's malady, but he'd expected Draco to deny it, defend himself, lie, sneak – something. But he certainly hadn't expected a confession and apology. "What did you do?" he asked, suddenly bewildered.

"I asked her to do something that I was too cowardly to do myself," he sighed. "I never should have gotten her involved. I just thought you might listen to her."

"About what?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused.

"About me."

Harry took a deep breath and let it out very slowly, giving himself enough time to try and calm down. "Look, Malfoy, I don't understand what's going on here, or how Hermione talking to me about you could have put her in hospital, but this needs to stop. You've made it perfectly clear how you feel about me, but it doesn't matter anyway. I'm with Oliver. I'm happy and I don't need your mind games or your lessons. I just want you to leave me alone."

Draco grabbed Harry's elbow and pulled him away from his small group of friends. They hadn't been close enough to hear Harry once he stopped shouting, but Draco didn't want to take any chances. "You can't stop the lessons now," he argued. "We're so close."

"I think that's the problem," Harry muttered. He wanted to pull his arm out of Draco's tight grip, but at the same time he didn't. Even such a simple touch left him angry and confused. "I appreciate everything you've done, and when Oliver and I make the decision to get married, I'll hold up my end of the bargain, I promise. You'll still get your exclusive rights to market us as your big celebrity match."

"I don't care about that," he hissed. "Don't you understand? I promised to help you get Oliver to the altar. We made an Unbreakable Vow, Harry."

"Well, then we'll make a new Vow, one that will void the last," Harry suggested

"Or you could just stop being foolish and finish our lessons," Draco countered. He only spared a moment in wondering if altering their Vow would help him in his mission to win Harry. He had already been toying with too much magic, and he was afraid to risk doing more harm than good by trying to change a spell that was already firmly in place, especially one so powerful as the Unbreakable Vow.

"I'm not being foolish," Harry sighed, full of exasperation. "I just have a hard time being around you, Malfoy."

"Well, what if I promised to be on my best behavior?" Draco prompted. "I'll be as professional as I should have been all along."

Harry didn't want to end the lessons, not really. They were obviously working and he and Oliver were closer than ever, but at the same time, he knew that part of the reason he didn't want to end the lessons was because he still wanted to see Draco, and that part was unacceptable.

"You can't interfere with this magic," Draco reminded him. "That's what happened to Hermione, that's why she's here. I don't know what will happen if we try to break this Vow, Harry."

"Hermione is here for interfering with the magic?" Harry asked, his dark brow knit in confusion.

"Yes," Draco replied, afraid to say too much more.

"Will you…that is…do you think you could explain the magic to me?" he asked, remembering Hermione's words and her insistent tone before she nearly collapsed. He had been too angry to think straight before, but Harry knew his best friend wouldn't be so persistent without cause.

Draco nodded without hesitation. He didn't know what the magicks would allow, but he would do his best to convince Harry as he'd done with Hermione. It was his last ditch effort to save his life and his heart as well, because he knew now, that he couldn't live without this infuriating Gryffindor who was smiling weakly at him. "I'll do my best," he promised.

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and nodded. "I'll be in touch then," he said and turned back to join his friends on the other side of the lobby.

"What was that about?" Oliver asked when Harry leaned against him.

"Nothing important," Harry replied. Oliver looked as if he was about to press the issue, but Harry asked about Hermione's condition instead and his boyfriend remained quiet while Ron filled him in on what the healer had told them. Hermione would be fine, but she needed lots of rest and a few potions that would help replenish her magic and bring her vitals back to normal levels.

Throughout Ron's story, Harry was unable to stop glancing over his shoulder at the frazzled looking blond. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen eyes so wild and frantic. But he quickly recalled that Draco Malfoy was none of his business, no matter how much Harry just wanted to go over and comfort the man.

Author's Note: So, we're almost through. Only 6 chapters left. Plenty of time to resolve everything. Right? Right?


	20. Don’t Feed the Animals

Author's Note: Many thanks again to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter and thanks to all who have reviewed so far. Only five chapters to go!

Chapter 20 Don't Feed the Animals

Harry hurried around the bend of Diagon Alley and Hobble Lane to the tiny café on the corner. He was supposed to meet Oliver there for breakfast and he was running a tad late. The place was jammed with people when he entered, but he didn't spot his boyfriend's face anywhere in the gathered crowd. He took a seat at the only table left, a two-top toward the back with a clear shot of the door. He thought that was handy in case he needed to flag Oliver down when he walked in. He was just glad the Keeper was late as well and that the blame wouldn't fall entirely on Harry's shoulders.

As he perused the menu, unsure of what to order or what he was even in the mood for, he wondered if Oliver might have already come and gone. Surely Harry wasn't _that_ late? When he pulled the menu away from his face to glance around the café one more time, he noticed the only other chair at his table was suddenly occupied. "Is this seat taken?" Draco asked, a delicate smirk on his lips.

Harry knew he should be annoyed with the blond, especially after the stint at St. Mungo's, but he couldn't bring himself to be irked by the man when he looked like he did. Draco seemed tired and frazzled. He had shadows under his eyes and his hair was less kempt than usual and Harry thought he could see wrinkles in the man's robes, which wasn't normal by any means. But beyond all that, Draco still managed to be the hottest bloke Harry had ever set eyes on.

"It is now, I suppose," Harry replied rather glibly. "Stalking me again?"

"Hardly," Draco scoffed. "I always have breakfast here. Besides, I was here first," he added, gesturing to the fact that he already had food and tea in hand.

"What, no sausage?" Harry asked, commenting on the meat-free pastry Draco had on his plate. "I seem to recall you mentioning that you preferred a nice, thick sausage for breakfast."

"I think it's adorable that you so easily remember a conversation we had months ago. I had no idea you cared so much," he purred, causing Harry to blush furiously when his plan to embarrass the blond had been promptly turned around on him.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry replied, but the words held no venom, only humor. "So, what's good here? I have no idea what to order."

"Try this," Draco offered, holding out a chunk of his blueberry Danish for Harry to bite. Harry did, pausing to lick a stray smudge of fruit that had lingered on Draco's fingers. The blond averted his gaze, warding off his own flush, but Harry didn't seem to notice as he closed his eyes and enjoyed the bite of Draco's breakfast.

"Mmm," he sighed, and Draco had to fight to keep breathing as he watched Harry's face take on a blissful expression. Draco's tongue flicked out to wet his lips, as if he could taste what Harry did. "That's delicious."

"I knew you'd like it," Draco murmured thickly, trying to tone down the lust burning through him.

"You seem to have a knack for that," Harry pointed out, opening his eyes to take in Draco's curious expression.

"For what?" Draco asked, leaning in a bit more than was prudently necessary. The café was filled with noise, but Harry hadn't had any trouble hearing the blond so far. Still, he didn't complain.

"For knowing what I'll like," Harry replied with a warm smile.

Draco felt his heart skip a beat and knew at once that he was treading thin ice – how had breakfast become so erotic? – so, he changed the subject. "How's Hermione doing?" he asked.

The fire faded from behind those emerald orbs and Harry adopted a more serious tone. "The Healers think she'll be fine so long as she gets some rest. They've sent her home with a potion regiment that should replace the magic reserves she'd depleted. Although, how it happened I still don't understand," he sighed.

Draco nodded, knowing it was impossible to explain anything to the man while they were here in the middle of breakfast, but he didn't envy Harry's ignorance. Draco always loathed it when his parents had withheld information from him during the war. It had made him feel so useless, and it resulted in an array of mistakes that Draco might not have made if he'd been fully versed on what was happening around him. Draco worried that Harry was about to make a mistake that he could never take back, simply because he didn't know all the variables. More than anything, Draco wished he could fill Harry in.

"I don't think I can eat the rest of this," Draco sighed, pushing his plate away. "Do you want it?"

Harry didn't agree with words, he simply opened his mouth, waiting to be fed as Draco had done before. When had things become so comfortably intimate between them? Draco didn't know, but he wasn't going to turn Harry away now, or ever for that matter. He simply picked up the remaining half of his Danish and held it to Harry's succulent lips, wishing he could kiss them without any unseemly side effects.

"Well, this looks cozy."

Harry pulled back, his mouth half-full of food as he rushed to chew and swallow the bite he'd taken. Draco on the other hand had no food in his mouth whatsoever, but was equally speechless. Oliver stood there, staring at them both and waited for an explanation. "Harry, it was nice bumping into you," Draco said and got up from the table. "Oliver," he added as an afterthought before abruptly leaving the couple alone, ignoring the desperate glare Harry shot him in his wake.

Oliver took Draco's abandoned seat and remained silent, staring at Harry across the table with hurt and anger in those dark eyes. When it was clear Harry had nothing to say, even after nearly choking as he swallowed Draco's breakfast, Oliver decided he could take the silence no longer. "Did you make a date with the wrong boyfriend?" he asked, startling Harry with his quiet, seething tone.

"What?" Harry asked, completely baffled.

"Do you miss him already? Should I ask him to come back? I hadn't meant to interrupt your sweet little moment," Oliver replied, goading Harry into anger.

"Stop being ridiculous," Harry shot back, his pitch increasing ever so slightly.

"_Am I_ being ridiculous? Because it seems to me that you hang out with him an awful lot for someone you supposedly hate," Oliver growled.

"I don't hate him, I never said I did. That doesn't mean I love him either," Harry replied defensively.

"I never said anything about love," Oliver whispered, his eyes narrowed in challenge.

"You know what I mean. Draco and I are just friends," Harry scoffed, folding his arms over his chest. His ire increased in competition with his guilt. He didn't want to make a scene, but Oliver seemed to be leaving him no choice.

"Since when? You two were sniping at each other the night of our first date, but ever since then you…" Harry glared as Oliver's voice trailed off and the man looked away, so that Harry could only imagine the derogatory lies Oliver was thinking.

"I what?" Harry challenged.

"It almost seems like you're dating both of us," Oliver sighed, suddenly looking more defeated than angry.

"That's preposterous! Draco doesn't even like me that way," Harry assured, but to that Oliver just laughed – albeit, there was no humor in the sound.

"Oh, well, that's certainly reassuring," his boyfriend scoffed. "I suppose you'd just jump right into bed with him if he did?"

"That's not what I meant! Merlin, you're twisting around everything I say," Harry shouted, too exasperated to keep his volume in check. It hardly mattered by now though, he knew their fight would be front-page news in the papers tomorrow morning.

"Then just be blunt with me, Harry. Do you have feelings for him?" Oliver asked, his eyes both furious and pleading.

Harry flushed with anger and embarrassment, and opened his mouth to answer, although he had no idea what he would say. What could he say? Yes, he was attracted to Malfoy? Yes, he would bed him in an instant if Draco were willing to be in a committed relationship? All of those things would hurt Oliver, and he didn't want to hurt him. But maybe the man needed to know the truth of the situation.

The answer was taken out of his hands, however, when a clumsy woman slipped and sprayed her hot tea all over Oliver's lap. "Oh! Oliver, I'm so sorry!" the woman apologized, dabbing at Oliver's trousers with deliberate care. Harry was about to tell the trollop off for molesting his boyfriend, but quickly realized who it was. In the haze of his anger, he hadn't even noticed Ginny making her way over to their table.

Oliver stood, casting Ginny a scathing glance and cleaned himself off with a flick of his wand. "I'll be out of town for the next few days," he told Harry sharply. "We'll discuss this when I get back." And with that, Oliver strode toward the door, ready to walk out on Harry. He didn't know if it was the blatant rudeness of Oliver running away in the middle of a fight, or his increasing guilt over why they were fighting to begin with, but Harry said something he instantly regretted the moment the words left his lips.

"I'll try not to fuck Malfoy while you're gone!" Harry shouted after him. Oliver turned and gaped, pain and hurt blazing in that dark gaze, but he didn't reply. Instead, Oliver continued on his path out of the café and Harry slumped further into his chair, feeling like complete rubbish.

When he looked up, Ginny had taken Oliver's seat, which had been Draco's before that, and Harry had to laugh, because if he didn't he might cry from the frustration of it all. At Ginny's bemused expression, Harry decided to explain. "Did you know that you're the third person to have breakfast with me this morning?"

"Well, aren't you popular?" she quipped.

"Did you do that on purpose?" Harry asked, the laughter dying abruptly on his lips as they set into a tight line.

"Whatever do you mean?" she asked, batting her eyelashes coquettishly.

Harry glared at her, putting the same menacing glint into his gaze that he used when facing off with the villains he dealt with at work. "Don't be coy, Gin. You and I both know you're better than that."

"I didn't like the way he was talking to you, Harry. It's not right," she said with a pout, as if that would garner Harry's favor and lessen her lecturing. Maybe it worked, or maybe Harry was too tired to chastise a friend who behaved childishly. Besides, what kind of hypocrite would that make him?

"No, he's perfectly reasonable," Harry sighed, running his hands haphazardly through his messy, black locks. "He walked in with Malfoy feeding me. Can you believe that? I don't know how I let myself get into these messes."

"Oh, that sounds hot," she purred, leaning closer in case Harry wanted to whisper about the indecent bits. "Do go on."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Stop it, Gin. I'm dating Oliver. It's completely inappropriate for me to be accepting bites of food from another man's fingers."

Ginny sighed like a petulant girl denied a later bedtime, and straightened her posture. Her look quickly turned stern, as if she were channeling some Molly-Minerva hybrid, and Harry quickly realized he preferred the pout. "If you know that, then why are you doing it?" she asked, making Harry swallow thickly, because guilt was building up in his throat.

"I don't know." It was the only answer he could come up with, and Ginny just stared at him for a long time, clinking her newly manicured nails against her empty teacup. She looked on the verge of either slapping him or telling him off using large words he couldn't begin to understand.

"Well," she said at last, and Harry let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. For some reason he'd begun to think she was just going to stare at him with those harsh, knowing eyes forever. "Perhaps that's what you should be asking yourself."

And with that, Ginny got up and left the same way Oliver and Draco had, leaving Harry staring after her as he wondered how he could have managed to irritate three people so thoroughly in a matter of minutes.

And he still hadn't eaten a proper breakfast.

* * *

Harry hadn't heard a word from Oliver all day. He'd been sure he would have gotten a response to at least one of the many apologetic Owls he'd sent – even a terse telling off would have been appreciated at this point. He suspected that he'd bollixed things up for good this time. What had he even been thinking? Sitting with the man would have looked suspicious enough, but at least that could be easily explained away, but taking food from the man's fingers as if they were lovers…. It was inexcusable really, especially given the fact that Harry was happily dating Oliver. It wasn't as if Harry was a single man with only his own heart on the line. Any dalliance with Draco would only be temporary, and it would end up hurting both Harry and Oliver in the end. Draco had said so in as many words, this was only business for him. Even knowing this, however, Harry couldn't seem to stop falling for the blond's advances and found himself encouraging them more often than he knew he should.

When the fireplace flared to life, Harry found himself wishing that it was Oliver, but he wasn't as disappointed as he should have been to see it was Draco instead. Harry walked over to sit in front of the luminescent green flames and glared mockingly down at the blond. "You got me into a bit of a mess with Oliver," he told the man, who winced and looked genuinely apologetic.

"I didn't mean to get you into trouble," he whispered, but Harry only sighed and shook his head in dismay with himself.

"It's not all your fault," he admitted. "Still, we had our first big fight and now I don't know what to do. He's going to be in Ireland for the next few days."

"Did you two break up?" Draco asked, and if Harry had hoped to detect a fleck of victory in the tone he would have been sorely disappointed. Draco seemed concerned, almost as if his life depended on their relationship working. That made sense in the context of the Unbreakable Vow, but not in the context of the way Draco had been behaving around him. Harry couldn't understand, as much as he wanted to, why Draco seemingly wanted him to stray from Oliver when he knew that they were matched. Draco had performed the tests and spells himself, for Merlin's sake, so why the constant flirting?

"No, nothing that severe…I hope," Harry replied at last, a bit distractedly. "I don't know though. Maybe he wants to end things."

"Perhaps he just needs some time to cool down," Draco offered. "How are you? Do you need someone to talk to?"

Harry wanted to scream. Boorish Malfoy he could easily ignore, Flirtatious Malfoy he could even deal with, but sweet, considerate Draco was so hard to resist it nearly drove him mad from trying. With effort, Harry succeeded. "Yes," he replied with a soft sigh, "but I think it's a bad idea to meet up with you now."

"I understand," Draco whispered, sounding slightly hurt. "If it's any consolation, arguing was step number six, so technically you're still on schedule."

"You're just trying to make me feel better. There is no way that arguing is the way to a man's heart," Harry laughed.

"Arguing is unavoidable, Harry. You're not going to agree with him on every little thing. It's not as if we encourage it, mind you, but this way you'll know in advance how he reacts in a tense situation." Draco's explanation made complete sense but left Harry feeling a bit empty.

"He ran away," Harry rasped, feeling his heart tug with anger and pain all over again.

"A lot of people do. Are you okay with that?" Draco asked. "I mean, are you okay with the fact that Wood does it?"

Harry merely shrugged and stared into the glow of the flames. He didn't think it mattered much if it bothered him or not. It was Harry's fault they'd fought, so he would just need to deal with it. "Is that why you didn't come up with some smooth lie like last time? You knew we needed to fight?" Harry asked softly, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them.

Draco laughed and preened a bit, which made Harry laugh as well. "I wish I had that much control over your relationship, Harry. Honestly I just couldn't think of any plausible reason why I'd be feeding you breakfast. It's not as if your arms had fallen off, after all."

"So, why did you?" Harry asked, all humor sucked out of him like a deflated balloon.

"Why did you accept it?" Draco challenged, equally somber all of a sudden.

"I should go," Harry said, standing abruptly and leaning against the mantel. "I'm tired and confused."

"It's never been my intention to confuse you, Harry," Draco whispered softly.

"I know, but just because you didn't mean for it to happen doesn't mean it didn't. I'll Owl you after I've spoken to Oliver," Harry said, lingering longer than he should have. It was painful to pull himself away from the fireplace, away from its warmth…away from Draco. But he knew he had to do it. If things didn't work out with Oliver, maybe Harry could entertain going down this road with Draco, but by then, the blond probably wouldn't be interested. Regardless, Harry was in a committed relationship with Oliver now, so he had to put space between he and the beautiful blond face bobbing in the fire. "Goodnight, Draco," he said reluctantly, before turning away and heading for his bedroom.

"Goodnight, Harry," Draco replied in the barest of whispers, moments after ending the fire call and heading toward his own sleepless night.

Author's Note: Yes, yes. I know. I've heard it all before. Poor Draco! Stupid Harry! Have I mentioned there are still 5 chapters (Well, 4 now)? Any of you who know me should know that I plan on milking it to the very end. *Slytherin smirk


	21. Step Seven

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for the beta work on this chapter and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far. You can all thank vampgoddesss for the quick update. It's her birthday today and she requested that I update this as her gift. Now, I suppose I'll have a barrage of people claiming it's their birthday tomorrow and to update again....

Chapter 21 Step Seven

When Harry opened the door, expecting to see any number of his friends, or even Draco, he was surprised to be met with a fuzzy bear. It was about a meter tall, wore Puddlemere United's Quidditch robes and hovered just in front of his face. Harry leaned around the bear to smile curiously at the Scot standing at the bottom of his stoop. "Oliver," he greeted, grinning ear-to-ear. "I missed you."

"I can tell," Oliver replied, holding up a stack of parchments – all the letters Harry had been sending him in his absence no doubt.

Closing the gap between them, Oliver quickly climbed the stairs and pulled Harry into a crushing embrace before capturing his boyfriend's lips in a fevered kiss. "I'm sorry," Harry whispered when they broke apart.

"I'm sorry, too. I wanted to write you back, but I just didn't know what to say," he said, as Harry pulled him inside. "This Malfoy business is getting to me more than I'd like to admit."

Harry sighed and shoved his boyfriend to the sofa, straddling his legs and leaned forward to kiss those sweet lips again. "I need to tell you something," he said, his tone growing serious. "But you have to promise not to leave until I'm finished explaining."

All the color drained from Oliver's face and he struggled to get out from under Harry's thighs. "Please tell me you didn't," he said, his voice choking.

"Didn't what?" Harry asked, thoroughly confused by Oliver's reaction. He hadn't even told his boyfriend any damning information yet.

"You slept with him, didn't you?" he demanded, his pain quickly shifting to fury.

"Draco? Gods no," Harry exclaimed. "Why would you think that?"

"What else would you have to tell me that I would get angry over?" Oliver balked.

"Would you just listen?" Harry hissed, clenching his thighs and levering himself over the man. Oliver easily had two or three stones on Harry, but Harry was a trained Auror. He couldn't be thrown off so easily, and even if Oliver managed it, Harry would be able to maneuver him back in place with ease.

"Fine," Oliver bit out, clearly upset over being held against his will.

"The reason I've been seeing so much of Draco lately, is that he's been," Harry swallowed, finding the words difficult to say, "giving me dating lessons."

"Dating lessons," Oliver repeated flatly.

"He's helped Mione, Ginny and Ron with their relationships, and I thought he could help me," Harry explained. "Every relationship I've ever had before now has been sabotaged some way or another, and I really liked you. I didn't want that to happen to us."

All the air seemed to release from Oliver's lungs as he pulled Harry into a tight embrace. "So, you're really not shagging him?"

"No," Harry huffed, a little more indignantly than he'd planned. "But maybe you should be around more to prevent it," Harry whispered seductively, nibbling the edge of Oliver's ear.

Harry had expected the man to melt into his ministrations, but Oliver went stiff instead. "Is that a threat?"

"What? No!" Harry exclaimed, pulling back to stare down at his boyfriend. "I was only teasing."

"Well it's not funny." Oliver's eyes were bright with resentment and Harry found himself cringing away from that gaze.

"I'm sorry," Harry sighed. "See why I might need dating lessons," he added, trying to make it a joke, but judging by the look on Oliver's face, he fell short.

"Do you have a problem with my job, Harry," the man asked.

Harry could only shrug. "Not your job so much as the hours. I feel like I never get to see you."

"You've played Quidditch before, Harry. You know how much work it takes to win."

"I know," Harry sighed, threading his fingers through Oliver's short, cropped hair. "I just miss you is all."

"I've never said anything to you about being an Auror. I don't see where you get off making demands on me like this," Oliver fumed.

"I'm not making demands!" Harry explained heatedly.

"Your job could get you killed, Harry! I could get a visit from the Minister one day telling me you've died in a duel or something!" Oliver seethed.

"I'm not going to die," Harry whispered, trying to soothe him.

"You don't know that. You're not invincible, Harry. One day you're bound to come across someone who is better than you," Oliver challenged.

"How long have you been concerned about my job, Olli?" Harry asked quietly, leaning down so that he snuggled against the Scot instead of pinning him to the sofa. Oliver seemed to relax, pulling Harry against him as they leaned back into the couch together.

"I worry all the time that you might be taken away from me. I guess…I guess I didn't even know how much I worried until now," he replied softly, all signs of anger leaking away.

Harry didn't know what to say or what to do after such a desperate admission. He didn't want to cause Oliver any pain, but could he stop being an Auror? Could he suppress his need to help people? Harry nearly chastised himself aloud. Being an Auror wasn't the only way he could help people. Surely there was something else he could do that wouldn't put his life at risk so often, although honestly it wasn't as if he was sent out on field assignments as often as he used to be.

If this was what Oliver needed to feel safe and secure, than Harry thought he could give it to him. After all, perhaps if Harry quit his job at the Auror department, Oliver might cut back on his own hours and they could start that family Harry had always wanted. Harry kissed Oliver's forehead and held him tightly, trying to ease the man's worries. "I'll talk to Shacklebolt tomorrow," Harry assured him.

Oliver didn't protest, as Harry had almost expected him to, he just made a soft, contented sound and wrapped himself more fully around Harry's body before plying his neck with delicate kisses while Harry wracked his brain for what in Merlin's name he was going to do with himself now.

* * *

True to word, Harry didn't contact Draco in any way for the next four days, as he waited for some word from Oliver. When he finally received an Owl, asking to resume their meetings, he couldn't help but feel both relieved and disappointed. Part of Draco had hoped the Quidditch star gave Harry the boot, but not only was he afraid of what the magicks would do in that scenario – given that Draco's flirtation would have been the direct cause of said break up – but he was also worried about Harry. Truth be told, Draco could live with whatever outcome so long as his soul mate was happy. He knew the potential was there for the Gryffindor to be very happy with Oliver Wood, and if Draco hadn't been so near, he probably already would have been.

That Draco still saw a spark of unease when he spoke of his boyfriend or stood next to him at a party was the only reason he was still in London. Hope burned through him brighter than any candle flame, spurring him to do asinine things – all in the name of love. He didn't even bother asking himself when he'd turned into a sappy Hufflepuff, because Draco was growing so used to being in love with Harry Potter that it came as second nature to him.

Every morning, Harry would be the first thing on his mind. He'd find his thoughts constantly drifting to the man all day, wondering what he was doing at work, curious what cases he was working on and how much danger he might be in because of them. When he went out, Draco often thought of Harry and how he'd like to bring him to a certain café for lunch or see what the brunet would look like in a certain pair of robes. What was once a maddening change to his normal life, now seemed to be another sliver of his own being. Draco was comfortable in the fact that he belonged to Harry, even if Harry would never belong to him.

Draco sighed and tried to relax. Harry would be there for their seventh lesson, one he'd been dreading from the start. He didn't know how he was going to get through the night, let alone the many lonely evenings to follow. He was going to have to give permission for Harry to take his relationship to the next level, which meant that in addition to wondering how Harry's day was, or if he'd like a certain ice cream flavor, Draco was going to have to wonder if he was having sex with Oliver.

It wasn't as if Draco was under the delusion that Harry was still a virgin or anything. He didn't expect the man to have remained untouched his entire life while waiting for 'the one'. Hell, Draco had thought he'd found the one in a woman he'd started dating just after Hogwarts, and then again when he met the first man he'd slept with. Clearly, none of them were the one, but hearts tend to make minds foolish when hormones are involved.

But, knowing that Harry had participated in acts of consensual sex at a time Draco would like to imagine was ages ago, and knowing that he was now going to be eagerly fucking the man he was dating when he should be with Draco was another thing altogether. He knew it made him a hypocrite. He just didn't care.

He'd been secretly pleased by Harry's jealousy of Alston, and wondered if Harry had suspected more happened between them than what did. Truth be told, Draco had allowed the man to suck him off before they both passed out in a pissed haze. Draco had consumed far too much alcohol that evening as he surreptitiously watched Harry with Oliver on the other side of the pub. The amount of liquor consumed increased exponentially after he'd watched Oliver carry Harry out of the pub. Honestly he'd been wondering if something had happened between them that night, but he was too afraid to ask.

After Harry had discovered Alston boldly answering his door in nothing but ill-fitting boxer shorts, Draco had thrown the man out and told him not to bother Owling. He couldn't believe the tantrum Alston had caused, ranting about how he was going to _Witch Weekly_ with a story about Draco and Harry's affair while Harry was dating Oliver Wood. Draco couldn't allow such a scandal to besmirch his or Harry's name, so he'd Obliviated the wizard of all knowledge of Draco. Thankfully it had worked, but Draco had been a little nervous for the next few days, wishing he'd had more practice at memory charms.

A knock on the door startled him out of his ill thoughts and Draco rushed to the door, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly through his teeth before opening it. "Harry," he greeted, wondering if the Gryffindor even thought it odd any more that Draco rarely referred to him as Potter now. Harry's warm smile and the easy use of his own given name told him that no, Harry must not find it unusual at all.

"How was your day?" he asked, leading the man into the living room. Draco offered him a drink and Harry replied with his usual 'whatever you're having' and took a seat.

"It was eventful," Harry said at last. "We finally caught the wizard who'd set those fires a few weeks back, remember?" Draco nodded dutifully. The fires meant quite a lot to him; actually, because that was the first day he realized his true feelings for the Gryffindor in front of him. Not that he was allowed to say so. "Well, he was trying to do the same to an orphanage over on briar, but one of the sisters reported suspicious activity and we got there in time."

"Who was it?" Draco asked.

"Some bloke named Octavius Parkin," Harry murmured. Draco didn't understand why Harry didn't seem more victorious than he did. He'd expected joyous shouting and toasts to the Ministry prevailing once again. "It's been a long day."

Harry's sigh made Draco lean forward and place a hand on his knee. "You look upset when it seems to me you should be celebrating."

"Why?" Harry replied, looking glum. "It's just one more criminal I've put in Azkaban. It's not as though they'll all stop now. Besides, you probably don't want to hear about it."

"Stop being ridiculous, Harry. You've done a great thing today. Think of how many villains there would be out there if they didn't have you on the Auror force," Draco replied. "You single-handedly captured Fenrir, Avery, the Carrows and over a dozen other former Death Eaters. Just imagine the havoc they would have wreaked on the wizarding world if left to the rest of your bumbling department."

"They are not bumbling, they just aren't…as dedicated as I used to be," Harry said, "and how do you know all that?"

"I can read, Harry," Draco replied sharply. "And they are bumbling, but that's besides the point. What do you mean by 'used to be'?"

Harry sighed and sunk deeper into his armchair. "I can't keep it up forever, can I? How can I expect Oliver to quit playing Quidditch, a game that holds one hundredth of the danger my job holds, when I won't stop being an Auror?"

"He wants you to quit?" Draco asked, slightly taken aback.

"Well, he didn't say so in so many words, but he certainly hinted at it enough for me to get the point. I can understand where he's coming from, and it's not fair for him to give up the career he loves if I'm not willing to do the same. It's not like we need the Galleons," he sighed.

"I can't believe you're saying this!" Draco exclaimed, getting to his feet to pace the floor. "Wood knew what you did when he agreed to date you!"

"I knew what he did as well," Harry pointed out. "Yet, I find myself hating how often he's away. I want a husband who is there for me, not someone who I only get to see on the weekends."

Draco massaged his temples, and glared at Harry, hating that they were having this conversation. "I would never make you quit the job you love," he muttered, when Harry only glared back.

"Well, I'm not dating _you_, am I?" Harry bit back.

"No, you're not!" Draco nearly shouted. He was so frustrated he could hardly stand it.

"Then stop acting as if I am!" Harry replied, standing up to match Draco's height. "It's bad enough I have to have this argument with Oliver, I don't need it from you as well. You're supposed to be my relief from all that!"

Draco made to shout back, halting for a moment as he processed Harry's words. "What did you say?"

Harry looked as though he was going to repeat what he'd said but then realized the weight of it. "I didn't mean it that way," he sulked, throwing himself back down into the armchair.

"Really? Because it sounded a lot like you meant I was your escape from Oliver," Draco whispered.

"I said I didn't mean it that way, I just…I just want to get on with the lessons," he muttered at last.

"Harry," Draco breathed, once again reaching out to the Gryffindor, his hand landing on the man's shoulder until Harry shook it off.

"I'm the client here," he replied bitterly. "Can we just move on, please?"

Draco pulled away and went back to his own seat, the sting of rejection pulsing through him. "It's your Knut," he sneered, making Harry wince, but the man didn't say another word. "You'll be pleased to learn that tonight you're finally able to give yourself to your precious Keeper."

"What?" Harry asked, looking confused.

"Sex, Potter. You've heard of it, right?" Draco mocked. He knew he was being childish, he knew that Harry wasn't really upset with him, merely taking it out on him, but he couldn't seem to make his tone any less rude.

"Of course," Harry replied, narrowing his eyes. "I just don't understand how step seven can be about sex if we've never even talked about commitment."

"Well, you've been arguing," Draco prompted. "The best sex is makeup sex after all."

"That's moronic, Malfoy," Harry scoffed. "I'm not having sex with a man I don't love."

"How very sweetly Gryffindor of you," Draco sniped, but he couldn't ignore the fact that hearing Harry say that he didn't love Oliver sent a thrill through his soul.

"I guess I'm just not some whorish Slytherin who fucks a man on the first date," Harry seethed.

Draco narrowed his eyes and stood, stalking near enough to loom over Harry's form. "Is that what you think of me?"

"What else am I supposed to think, Malfoy? I find that Alston character in his underwear the morning after you're out with him, and you hit on me constantly even though I'm taken. Are you even capable of being in love?" Harry hissed back.

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Draco sighed and nearly lunged at Harry. The usually spry Gryffindor was taken off guard and ended up sprawled backwards as the chair he was sitting in toppled under both men's weight. Draco regained his faculties quicker than Harry and had the brunet's arms pinned above his head, their faces only inches apart.

"Get off, Malfoy," Harry breathed, but the glint in those fathomless green eyes practically pleaded for him to stay.

"You know," Draco teased, his voice no longer holding anger but the first stirrings of lust, "from this angle, I could offer you some intimate instructions in step number seven," he purred.

Harry faltered and gaped, his previous struggles to be free of Draco's clutches had abruptly died. "Pardon?" he gasped, eyes wide.

"Surely you could use a few pointers in that area. Everyone needs a little practice after all," Draco offered, his voice silky and low.

"Even you?" Harry replied sharply, his eyebrow cocked in challenge.

"Well, maybe not everyone," Draco replied with a smug grin.

"Do you offer all of your clients practice?" Harry asked in a throaty whisper.

"Only the very, very special ones," Draco said, leaning in to capture those beautiful lips as they pursed into a frown. Harry's eyelids fluttered shut and all his movement ceased. He was going to allow this, he was going to let Draco snog him and perhaps he would even allow Draco to bed him, but Harry would be awfully angry over it in the morning - especially if he woke to find Draco's corpse in bed with him.

Reluctantly, Draco rolled away, staring up at the ceiling as his back pressed into the plush carpet. The magicks were already assaulting his body with sharp pinpricks, as if millions of needles were piercing his skin all at once. He sighed and rode out the pain, waiting for Harry to scream at him or run away.

He did neither.

"I'm not going to shag Oliver until I know for certain that I love him," Harry whispered. When Draco looked over, meeting the man's gaze, he saw that Harry had casually propped himself up on his elbow, as if lying along the back of an upturned chair was an everyday occurrence to him.

Draco refrained from pointing out that Harry hadn't seemed to unwilling to shag him just a moment before. "If it feels wrong, you should wait," he said instead.

"Thanks," Harry whispered, his eyes locked with Draco's as they stared at one another, side-by-side on the ground. "I should go."

"Right," Draco replied, but Harry made no move to do so. Instead they both laid there for what seemed like hours longer while Harry seemed to be searching him for something with that penetrating emerald gaze.

"See you later, Draco," he said after a long time, pulling himself to his feet at last as he made his way over to the door. Draco heard it open and heard it click shut behind the Gryffindor, but Draco stayed where he was. He hoped that staring at the ceiling fan spinning round and round might shed some light on the mess he'd made with his life, but all it did was dry out his eyes until it grew difficult to blink.

Author's Note: Well, I'll be waiting for the barrage of 'Poor Draco's' any moment now. I agree, of course, but I've always been on Harry's side too, as oblivious as he sometimes is.


	22. The Next Level

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for looking this chapter over for me and thanks to everyone who has reviewed so far! You have pushed me up and over 1000 reviews for this story, making it my most popular yet. I heart you guys!! You can thank NightlyCrazex for the quick update this time. She went to extra lengths to ask for a new chapter to be posted, so how could I not oblige? *squishes

Chapter 22 The Next Level

Seventeen hundred and eighty two.

That's how many florets made up the centerpiece in Harry's bedroom ceiling. He knew, because he'd counted them all himself when he should have been sleeping. The trouble was, he _couldn't_ sleep. It was now two o'clock in the morning and Harry hadn't shut his eyes even once except to blink when they became too dry.

And every time he did, the face of a certain blond Slytherin would occupy the dark space on the inside of his eyelids. So, he tried not to blink unless it was absolutely necessary. He was ignoring his need to sleep, afraid that those brief glimpses would turn into movie-reel dreams and some how manage to make him even more aroused – though Harry wondered if it were possible at this point.

The moment he stopped counting plaster decorations, the memory of Draco's thighs pinning him to the overturned chair filled his thoughts, and no matter how much he wanted to banish the traitorous feelings, his cock twitched in answer. "No," he hissed to himself. "I will not wank off to the image of being fucked into the ground by Draco Malfoy. Especially when I have a perfectly fit and attractive boyfriend that I'm allowed to fuck if I want."

Chastising himself did nothing to decrease his erection, however, so he just sneered down at the traitorous appendage. "And who the hell does he think he is, giving us permission to sleep with another man?" Harry growled. "As if I need his blessing to shag Oliver!"

If his cock had its own voice, it would have pointed out that Harry was mostly upset because he'd walked away from the man he really wanted to sleep with and now he couldn't seem to think straight. Harry had lived alone for far too long, and he was starting to worry about his mental health – arguing with himself – or his erection - was rather pointless.

He slipped a tentative hand to grip his shaft roughly and his eyelids fluttered shut at the contact. He tried to think of Oliver. His dark hair that carried just a hint of red, his muscular, Quidditch-toned build, his dark, smoldering eyes. It was easy to see why the man was sought after, his photo gracing hundreds of magazine covers. Oliver Wood was the epitome of athletic grace and power.

It didn't take long, however, before Oliver's hair shifted into pristine blond tendrils, his body became sinuous and pale and his eyes changed to an icy gray that sent shivers along Harry's spine.

Harry gasped at the feel of his own hand stroking his throbbing prick, coupled with the image of Draco plying his neck and chest with fevered kisses. His movements grew more frantic as his fantasy Draco engulfed Harry's cock with the wet heat of his mouth. He could easily imagine that tongue gliding along his shaft, and the cheek-hallowing suck he would employ to get Harry off. He'd already witnessed the talent of that delicious mouth when they'd kissed some time back.

It seemed like ages ago now, but he knew it had only been a few weeks since he and Draco had kissed, and only hours since he'd felt Draco's hot breath caressing his face. He would have let Draco have his way with him tonight, had he pressed his advantage. Harry could have thrown him off, just as he'd thwarted others who had put him in similar positions. Whether during a duel with a Death Eater or an amorous drunk at a club, Harry had experienced his fair share of lap straddlers before. All it would have taken was a well-placed knee and a bit of force and Draco would have toppled right over. But that knee had never come, and loath as he was to admit it, Harry knew exactly why.

In that moment, with Draco looming over him like some kind of wicked angel, Harry had wanted him, plain and simple. Even the seething tone Draco had used to goad him had managed to stir some deep lust within Harry. He secretly loved that he could so easily evoke such feelings in the blond, because Draco certainly made Harry feel like a madman. It was nice to have the ability to return the favor once in awhile.

And with no further prompting other than the image of Draco performing a relatively mundane – if anything involving Draco could be mundane - act of fellatio, Harry came harder than he ever had. As much as he deprecated himself for wanking off to another man, Harry hoped at least it would take the edge off so he could get a few hours of sleep before he had to get up for work in the morning.

However, he couldn't seem to quell the fire in his gut, even then. "Fuck, fuck, fuck bloody fuck!" Harry growled, tossing the soiled sheets away from his body. He got out of bed, and stalked naked into his bathroom, turning the shower to cold.

He winced as he got under the spray, but eventually the warmth drained out of him, and the lusty blaze Draco had started along with it.

But he still didn't get any sleep that night.

* * *

"Well, don't you look thoroughly debauched," Oliver commented when Harry came downstairs the next morning. "Should I be checking your bed for strange men?"

Harry had an odd sense of deja vu when he walked into the kitchen to see his boyfriend there with tea and a paper. "Er, Olli?" he asked, not sure what to say to the man who had seemingly broken into his house for breakfast. He pinched himself just to ensure he was awake.

"Sorry," Oliver said with a flush. "I didn't think you'd mind my being here."

"I don't," Harry rushed to correct. "I just…wasn't expecting to see you this morning."

"I have to leave for Japan in an hour or so, but I wanted to see you before I left. I know it's hard on you when I'm away…and I really wanted to make every effort," he replied, getting up to thread his arms around his boyfriend's naked torso. Oliver ran his fingers just under the waistband of Harry's pajama bottoms and purred sweet nothings against the man's ear. "I don't suppose you could skive off work for an hour or so this morning?" he whispered.

"I shouldn't," Harry replied, his voice suddenly breathy as his earlobe was enveloped in Oliver's mouth. "Especially if I'm to put in my resignation. I'll have a lot to do."

Oliver pouted, sinking his fingers deeper into Harry's flesh, eliciting a moan from the brunet. "Are you sure?" he rasped against the shell of Harry's ear. "I'll be gone for a whole week."

"A week?" Harry whined, pushing the man away. "That's all the more reason to wait. I don't want some frenzied fuck only to have you disappear for a week."

"Come with me then," Oliver offered, and Harry merely blinked in response.

"You're serious?" he asked.

"Of course," Oliver told him. "There's still time to get you a Portkey."

Harry bit into his bottom lip and seriously thought about what his boyfriend was offering. Oliver was going to be in Japan for an entire week, which would be a very lonely week for him. More than that, he had actually invited Harry to participate in part of his life. "What would I do in Japan?" he asked.

"Well, I'd be busy a lot of the time with practice and games, but I'd have most of my nights free, and hotel sex is always fun," Oliver said, waggling his eyebrows. "You could see all sorts of sites while I'm at work though."

"By myself," Harry pointed out.

"Well, yes," Oliver replied with a sigh. "I take it that means you're not coming?"

Harry shook his head. Here in London he had his job at least, and friends he could go have drinks with and…Draco. It sounded as if he'd be even more miserable in Japan, waiting in the hotel room for Oliver to come back. Besides, he didn't know if he was ready to sleep with Oliver yet. "Sorry, but I don't think so. I should really get a jumpstart on my paperwork so I can have everything organized for my replacement. Soon enough I'll have plenty of time to accompany you on your trips."

Oliver nodded, smiling weakly and pressed a kiss into Harry's forehead. "That's very responsible of you, Harry. I'll miss you, but I'll write when I can."

"I will too," Harry replied and clutched his boyfriend against him for a proper snog.

When Oliver pulled away, Harry escorted him to the front door. "Love you," Oliver said, blowing Harry a kiss from the bottom of the stoop.

Harry swallowed thickly, and waved. "You too!" he shouted before shutting the door and leaning his back against the cool wood. What in Merlin's name was he doing? Wanking off to Draco's image at night, turning down a shag from his boyfriend when he was still horny as hell this morning, making excuses not to go with him to Japan, when it was perfectly clear that Harry was only staying for one reason.

Draco.

He was systematically ruining his relationship with Oliver on the off chance than Draco might return an inkling of Harry's feelings for him. It was ridiculous! Nothing could be done about thefact that after a few months of dating, Harry still couldn't admit that he loved Oliver. He liked him, a lot, and could clearly see all the reasons why he _should_ love the gorgeous, considerate Quidditch Keeper, but the spark he often felt in Oliver's arms was greatly diminished by the feeling he got just being in Draco's presence.

It was infuriating.

Worse still, he knew that he was in love with the blond, knew it all the way down to his toes, but Draco had made it quite obvious that while he would be up for a shag, he didn't return Harry's feelings for him. Why else would the man avoid the topic as much as possible and remain silent when it did come up? Why else would he have been so adamant to tell Harry that their relationship was all business? Even if none of those examples had existed, Draco's fit of anger after they kissed couldn't possibly bode well. Even though the man had never explained it, Harry had a feeling that it had to do with the magic they had both invoked that first evening.

After his brief discussion with Hermione, Harry had been mulling over all the parts to this puzzle, and only one thing seemed clear to him. Even if Draco felt anything for him, the magic obviously didn't like him interfering in his and Oliver's relationship. That much he supposed was obvious based on the Vows they'd both made, but Harry suspected it proved something deeper. Even if Draco was in love with him, it didn't matter, because the magic wanted Harry with Oliver, and there had to be a good reason for that.

Harry had hoped that Draco would sit down and explain it all to him as he'd promised in hospital, but so far the man had avoided that particular subject. Eventually, Harry knew he was just going to have to corner the blond and drag the information out of him, but Harry was afraid. It took him a long time to admit it to himself, but he was scared to discover that he was right, and that Draco wasn't anything more to him than an instructor and perhaps a friend.

Earlier on, that was the answer Harry would have expected and welcomed, but over the last few weeks, he'd grown so close to Draco that he didn't think he could bear to find out that his feelings for the man had no merit. Instead of falling in love with his match, Harry had fallen in love with the man who had told him about it. It was backwards and nonsensical, he knew, but Harry couldn't help the tug he felt when he was near the blond, or the way he couldn't seem to stop smiling, even when Draco was being a world-class git.

What if he learned that there was no reason for him to feel that way? That once again, Harry had just managed to fuck up another relationship with his misreading of the other person. It had happened with George, when Harry saw a love interest there that was clearly nonexistent. It had happened with Marius and Orsino as well, both men he thought could be 'the one' but both turned out to be using him for their own needs.

What if he wanted Draco to love him so much that he'd been imagining all the signs that seemed to prove it possible? Harry didn't think he wanted to know if that were the case. He felt more comfortable in his ignorance, as frustrating as it was.

* * *

Draco didn't know why he even bothered. Wood was obviously smitten with Harry, and even if Harry wasn't ready to admit it, his actions proved that he was in love with Oliver as well. Why else would he agree to quit the job he loved just to make the other man happy? Still, it made the next lesson only that much more appropriate, because Harry needed some time away from everything to think - Draco only wished he could send himself along with the Gryffindor instead of Oliver.

It did no good wishing for things that were impossible though, so Draco quickly banished the thought.

He'd anticipated the knock before it happened and opened the door to a dapper looking Harry Potter. The Gryffindor wore only Muggle denims and a plain black shirt, but the simplicity made all the extraordinary things about him stand out that much more. His hair was a mess, but Draco could scarcely believe that Harry's tangled locks had once annoyed him. Now he would do anything to run his fingers through that wild mane. The lack of robes also did great things for Harry's body. Draco knew that the man was fit, of course, having seen his perfectly bare torso before, but the way his jeans hugged his legs and his bum made Draco anxious. He couldn't afford to make another rejected pass at the Gryffindor. Not only would his pride never recover, but the magicks were growing weary of Draco's game.

He'd been carefully toeing the line between friendship with Harry and more, but after the incident the other night, he wasn't sure how many more chances the magicks were going to give him. The fact that he was Harry's soul mate was probably the only thing keeping him alive after he so blatantly attacked the Gryffindor and ignored the magicks previous warnings.

But like an obedient wizard who respected the spells he worked with, Draco had backed down and Harry had gone back to Oliver once more. He wondered if Harry had slept with the Quidditch star yet or if he had refrained as promised.

Draco realized it wasn't a really a promise, but it felt that way.

"Alright, Malfoy?" Harry asked, pulling Draco from his silent musings.

"Fine, Potter, just fine," he replied, eschewing the Gryffindor inside. "About the other night," he began, but Harry just shook his head.

"Let's just pretend it didn't happen, shall we?" he suggested, avoiding the chair he'd been sitting in the night in question in lieu of the sofa. His emerald gaze just stared at the armchair, as if he were replaying the event over and over again in his mind. Perhaps he was. Draco had certainly done so several times since Harry left that night. He kept wondering why he'd snapped, why he'd chosen that moment to press his advantage. The answer seemed to still revolve around the fact that Harry was giving up everything he was to be what Oliver needed, but Draco didn't believe that love should change a person so completely. Harry was kidding himself if he thought quitting the Auror department wouldn't change who he was at the core.

Harry was a hero, he needed to help people and he was going to be miserable if he couldn't.

"Have you put in your resignation yet?" Draco asked, curiosity getting the better of his manners.

"No," Harry admitted. "Oliver's going to be out of town for the next few days and I think I've been stalling."

"For good reason, I'm sure," Draco offered, taking a spot on the sofa as well. He knew he should have sat in his usual chair and that being so close to Harry was dangerous to his ability to be logical, but he couldn't seem to help himself. Thankfully, Harry didn't seem to mind. He turned until his knee grazed Draco's and sighed.

"I don't know what to do," he admitted. "I care about Oliver, I honestly do, but I don't want to quit being an Auror. I don't even know if _I can_. What am I supposed to do with myself everyday if I'm not out catching bad guys?"

"Why don't you talk to Oliver about it? It seems like you two should be able to reach a compromise," Draco suggested, even though he would have rather told Harry to give his ungrateful boyfriend the sack.

"I told him about us," Harry breathed, so quietly that Draco wasn't sure he heard him correctly.

"You what?"

"I told him why I was coming over here, why you and I were spending so much time together," Harry explained.

"And what did he say?" Draco asked, his heart beating wildly in his chest. Had Harry come over here to break off their arrangement? Was this the last time he'd be seeing his lovely soul mate?

"He was relieved," Harry told him. "He thought that there was something else going on between us."

"I'm sure you explained how unlikely that was," Draco replied, his feelings mixed on the subject. He was grateful that Harry wasn't leaving him high and dry, but he didn't know what to make of this cryptic line of conversation.

"Is it?" Harry asked, leaning in just a little bit closer. "I can't help but wonder if Oliver's right."

Draco swallowed thickly as he took in the full extent of Harry's half-lidded gaze and his full, pouting lips. He wanted to kiss the man so badly, but a harsh shock of electricity burned through him as a reminder of where that course of action led. "What exactly are you saying, Harry?"

"I'm saying that I feel like I'm cheating on Oliver with you," he replied. "I know we've done nothing more than kiss, but I think the way I feel for you is a betrayal of my relationship with him."

Draco's heart beat as if it would come right through his ribcage and it was all he could do to remain impartial. He still had a job here, and that was to ensure Harry's happiness with Oliver if it could be ensured. "I think you need to go away."

"What?" Harry balked, standing up as if he were going to run out the door.

The idiocy of Draco's own words hit him in the next moment and he stopped Harry with a firm grip on his wrist. "That came out wrong, I'm sorry," he said. "What I meant was that the next step is for you and Oliver to take a vacation together. Most people use that time to propose, but-" he began, and Harry interrupted him with a nod.

"Ron proposed to Luna in Cabo and Clive proposed to Ginny in Bora Bora," Harry recalled aloud. "I'm not ready to propose to Oliver," Harry said in the next moment, no longer looking reminiscent but rather panicked instead.

"I'm not saying you should," Draco quickly corrected. "But a vacation might clear your head – make what you want more obvious to you."

"Oliver had invited me to Japan with him," Harry sighed.

"And you didn't go?" Draco asked.

"Obviously not." Harry rolled his eyes, but he shot Draco a soft smile. "I didn't want to leave…London."

"I see," Draco replied. His heart was bouncing around his ribcage like a child with too much candy, and he had no idea how to stop it. "Well, London will be here when you return," Draco assured. "And so will I."

"Promise?" Harry asked, his voice breathy and wild all at once. Draco stood and placed himself directly in front of the Gryffindor. He wanted to twine his hands around the man's waist, or thread their fingers together, but the grip on Harry's wrist would just have to do. He was afraid to push things any further.

"For you, Harry, I'd promise anything," Draco replied softly.

Harry's breath caught and his cheeks flamed a bright pink. Before Draco realized what was happening, the brunet had leaned in to capture Draco's lips, but a firm hand blocked his path. Draco held him off, but just barely. The need to attach himself to the Gryffindor and never let go nearly outweighed his own survival instinct.

"I've been wrong to flirt with you this way, Harry. You and I can't do this. Not now," he whispered.

Harry looked crushed and Draco wanted to assure him that his heart beat only for him, but Harry only nodded and turned. "You're right," he sighed and left Draco's living room with one final, lingering glace, a glance that nearly had Draco on his knees, begging Harry to come back.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind his Gryffindor, Draco fell to the sofa. "I fucking love you, Harry!" he shouted as loud as he could, knowing it would make no difference. The wards around his home were even more solid than the impenetrable block construction. Harry couldn't hear him, which was the only reason the magicks had allowed him to utter the words.

Author's Note: The end is nigh and patience is a virtue and yes, I've said this all before. It doesn't help, does it?


	23. Portkeys and Other Disasters

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their Beta work on this chapter and thanks to all of you who have reviewed so far. I think I should warn you in advance that this chapter has zero Draco, but I think you'll be okay with that in the end and I'll make up for it in the next chapter.

Chapter 23 Portkeys and Other Disasters

The shadows from the leafless trees along Whitehorn Boulevard were long and dark. It was Harry's favorite time of the year, and he was basking in the cool air of London in winter. It had taken a bit of persuasion on his part, but Oliver had finally agreed to pause his endless Quidditch training to take a trip with him. They both had busy schedules, but Harry had worked nonstop through the holiday season, and he felt he deserved some time off, not to mention Draco had practically ordered him to take it.

Oliver on the other hand was reluctant to leave his teammates for an entire week, but Harry assured him that they would continue to practice without his overseeing their every move. Now, Harry was on his way to Oliver's flat to pick him up and whisk him away on their surprise vacation. It wasn't until he reached the bright red door that Oliver told him he should look out for; that Harry realized this was the first time he'd ever been to his boyfriend's place.

How odd was that?

He was forced to wonder how many couples would date for months before seeing where their partner lived. It hadn't seemed like a big deal until he stood on the stairs leading up to that fire engine red door. Oliver was often out of town or on the Pitch, and when he wasn't, he was at Harry's. Was there a reason Oliver had never invited him over? Was there something inside the flat he was ashamed of? Perhaps there were dead bodies buried under the floorboards.

Harry physically shook himself with a laugh. Of course there was nothing like that. This was Oliver he was talking about; the man wouldn't hurt a flobberworm. Besides, there was likely a perfectly good reason for not having Harry over before now, and he certainly hadn't been reluctant when Harry offered to meet him there this time. Oliver's place was all the way across town, not that it mattered when they could Apparate, but maybe his boyfriend was just being considerate by always suggesting they meet at Harry's flat.

Knocking on the door, Harry tried to calm his nerves. Perhaps Oliver was a slob and embarrassed to let Harry see it. He could live with that. Ron had been horribly untidy, his things always strewn about their dorm and common room like he was still at the Burrow. He'd lived with that for six years, not even counting the mess he'd made of the tent they used when on the Horcrux hunt. There was nothing to worry about.

The door opened and Harry peered in, trying to see if Oliver had hidden behind the door. Only when he stepped forward and nearly _stepped_ _on_ a squeaking house-elf did he realize Oliver wasn't near the door at all.

"I'm here to see Oliver," Harry explained to the tiny, offended creature.

"Master Wood be expecting you," the house-elf announced and moved aside for Harry to pass into a well-lit foyer. "He's in the study."

One thing was clear the moment Harry began moving through the house, looking for his boyfriend. Oliver was _not_ messy. The entire home was open, bright and airy, and the word minimalist would have been an understatement. Oliver had virtually no personal items out. No, photographs, no books, not even a Quidditch trophy marred the perfectly white walls or stark maple furnishings. Everything was flat, clean lines and sharp glass surfaces. It reminded Harry of a museum, minus the art.

Harry walked through a living room, a dining room and down a long corridor before he found the study. Like the other rooms, this one had the same light-colored wood and the same Scandinavian design, but it seemed warmer somehow. The walls were painted a buttery yellow and lined with shelves. Unlike the rest of the house, the study was jammed with personal touches. Pictures of Oliver with various celebrities, all the trophies that had been missing from the other rooms were all packed in this small space. "Oliver," Harry greeted, causing the man to look up from the paperwork on his desk.

"Harry, you made it. Any trouble finding the place?" he asked.

"None," Harry replied and slinked over to the other side of the desk, laughing when he saw what Oliver was working on. The pile of 'paperwork' had really been a stack of publicity photos that Oliver was signing. His boyfriend beamed up at him from a hundred different portraits, clutching the handle of his broom as he grinned at the invisible photographer. "I bet your fans love these."

Oliver shrugged. "I suppose. You'd be surprised how many women request nude shots," he chuckled.

"Well, I want mine signed from that batch as well," Harry remarked.

"Maybe I'll give into that photographer from _PlayWitch_ who's been pestering me to do a spread," Oliver teased with a wink.

Harry laughed, but when Oliver didn't join in, his tone became hesitant. "You were kidding right?"

"Maybe we could do a shoot together?" he suggested, waggling his eyebrows. He pulled Harry against him and twined his hands around his boyfriend's waist. "Just think of what kind of money a photo like that would bring in. Harry Potter and Oliver Wood," he whispered.

Harry rolled his eyes, finally picking up on the teasing lilt in the man's voice. He gave an exaggerated sigh and gently bit into the soft flesh of Oliver's jugular. "I think the fully-clothed pictures they already have of us are quite enough, thanks."

Oliver chuckled and released Harry to put away his headshots. "When are you going to ease up on the media?" he pressed. "It's not like they're going away anytime soon."

"I know," Harry sighed, "and I'm okay with them, but that doesn't mean I have to court celebrity like you do."

"Like I do?" Oliver repeated, looking mildly affronted.

"It's fine, I mean, I get it. You do it for the team, but I don't have Quidditch fans to appease with signed portraits of myself. I'm the only Auror getting the kind of attention the press gives me. You'd think that over a decade would be long enough for people to get over me," Harry huffed.

"Do you expect me to get over you after just ten measly years?" Oliver cooed, grabbing Harry's wrist.

"No," Harry breathed, and then Oliver was kissing him, his tongue probing and plundering his mouth. Harry shivered at the touch, but pulled away after a moment. "We're going to be late for our Portkey."

Oliver pouted but nodded, running his fingertips along Harry's arm. "I'm packed and ready," he replied, gesturing toward a suitcase in the corner.

"Good," Harry replied and pulled a quail feather from his pocket. "We leave in less than a minute."

Bags in hand, the Portkey activated, sending the men to Harry's requested destination. Harry felt a little shaky upon arrival, but tried to quell it so that he could take in Oliver's reaction.

"A cabin?" Oliver asked tentatively as he absorbed their new location. Honey colored logs surrounded them and Harry grinned. It was even better than it had looked in the brochure. The windows were frosted with snow, the ceiling offered lofty expanses and richly carved beams and all the furniture looked soft and comfortable – perfect for snuggling.

On the far side of the living room was an enormous fireplace constructed of stacked stone in the prettiest slate gray and Harry could easily see them bundled up by the fire, or making love on the bearskin rug by the hearth.

"It's great," Oliver said, but Harry got the impression he was only trying to keep his spirits light so as not to disappoint him.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked. "Is it the moose head?" he prodded, gesturing to the antlered beast above the mantel. "I can Vanish the moose head."

"The moose head is…fine, Harry. Albeit a bit creepy," he added. "I was just assuming that since it was winter in London, that you'd pick somewhere more…tropical."

Harry sighed and chewed at his bottom lip. Two minutes in and Harry was already failing to meet his boyfriend's expectations. He was terrible at dating. "I'm sorry. I should have asked you where you wanted to go."

"Harry, no." Oliver pulled Harry to him and plied his face with tender kisses. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Harry sighed and leaned into his boyfriend's attention, hoping the man wasn't just trying to placate him.

Harry had four blissful hours devoted to unpacking, making hot cocoa and snogging his boyfriend senseless, and then suddenly, his holiday went to hell.

He shifted under Oliver's hips, feeling their erections rub together beneath the layers of cotton trousers between them. They were planted by the fire atop the bearskin rug Harry had imagined rolling around on, and a warm fire was blazing in the fireplace. Everything was perfect – or should have been.

Unfortunately, Harry couldn't seem to get comfortable.

Oliver moaned against him, grinding his clothed cock into Harry's thigh and Harry realized with a sudden start what this meant. Tonight was the night Harry was meant to give himself over to Oliver completely. Only something was wrong.

"I can't," Harry gasped, shifting so that he couldn't feel Oliver's erection anymore. "The moose," he complained, when Oliver pursed his lips and frowned down at him. "It's watching me with its judgy eyes."

"Harry, it's dead. I assure you the moose is not judging us," Oliver chuckled, his voice deep with lust.

"I just…it feels wrong," Harry muttered lamely.

"Harry…is this…is this your first time with a man?" Oliver asked, and Harry nearly choked on his own laughter.

"My first time? Merlin, no. I've done this thousands of times," he balked. "Well, not thousands, obviously. I'm not a slut or anything, but a few other times at least. Less than a dozen partners for sure, but more than six," he babbled.

"So, then what's the problem?" Oliver asked, interrupting Harry's seemingly endless stammering. "You bring me here on this surprise romantic vacation and then suddenly you're concerned about a moose? What's going on?"

"I don't know," Harry admitted honestly. "I just know I can't do this. Not right this moment."

"Okay," Oliver sighed, though he looked rather hurt and confused, two things Harry had hoped not to see on the man's face while they were away. Oliver fell against him, settling for twining their bodies together and offered up long, lingering kisses.

Harry didn't understand. He was hard as a rock, turned on beyond belief, Oliver was clearly ready, Draco had given him the okay, and it wasn't like this was some cheap one-night stand. Who cared if Harry was still a few encounters away from being in love with the Quidditch star? He'd certainly fucked blokes without loving them before, so why was now any different?

Because he _wanted _this to be different. He wanted the next person he slept with to be _the one_, and despite the fact that Oliver was spectacular in every way, Harry couldn't ignore the niggling feeling that he wasn't that one. And that the person he was meant to spend the rest of his life with was, in fact, waiting for him to come knocking on his door and confess his undying devotion. He realized, with a start, that he wouldn't be surprised if this person had perfect blond hair and the most stunning gray eyes Harry had ever seen.

Harry pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, wishing he could bury that thought back where it belonged, but it refused to budge. "Harry?" Oliver whispered, his voice filled with concern. "What's wrong?"

"Headache," Harry lied. "Maybe a delayed reaction from the Portkey," he added, another lie.

"We should get you to bed then," Oliver replied, maneuvering himself so that he could lift Harry up and carry him to the bedroom. It should have felt sweet and romantic, but instead, all Harry could think was that he was betraying Draco by being there with Oliver.

The next morning brought more snow and more upset as Harry woke to find the bed empty and cold. He got up, stumbled into the living room and smiled when he saw Oliver leaning over the fireplace. "You could have warmed those icy hands against my hot body," Harry suggested with a chuckle, but Oliver only turned and held up a finger to his lips before returning to the fire again.

"I understand," Oliver was saying. "But this wasn't planned. I'll be back in a week."

Harry rounded the sofa and saw the face of a portly man in the fireplace, his jowls vibrating with angry huffing.

"I'm not paying you to gallivant with your gay lover, Wood. I pay you to play Quidditch," the man growled.

"Harry is my boyfriend, Sir. It's the same as Joseph or Christopher taking time off to spend with their wives," he corrected.

"They don't take time off during the season, Wood. I thought you of all people would know that," the man told him. It was made difficult because of the flying embers and crackling fire, but Harry eventually recognized the man as Philbert Deverill, the team's owner and financier. "You've always been so dedicated before this Potter man came along. Now you seem distracted during practice and we almost lost that last game against the Kestrels!"

"We won by three hundred points, boss. I hardly call that 'almost losing'," Oliver scoffed.

"That's what I'm talking about!" Deverill shouted. "The Oliver of last season would have been appalled by those margins!"

"Well, maybe I'm not that man anymore," Oliver quipped.

"Well, then maybe you're not captain material anymore, Wood. You can dally there in Aspen with your boyfriend, but if you don't get back here tonight, Logan will find himself promoted." And with that, the fire call ended, leaving Oliver flushing with anger.

"Did you hear that?" he demanded, rounding on Harry as if he were the one to threaten Oliver's job.

"I heard," Harry replied. "You did the right thing, standing up to him."

Oliver glowered at the floor, not deigning to look up into Harry's expectant eyes. Harry had hoped this might be a turning point, that if Oliver was stripped of captain, then maybe they'd actually get to spend some time together. Although, this certainly wasn't the way he wanted it to happen.

Still, he suspected that he could easily fall in love with the man if given more time alone with him, and then he could finally dispel the traitorous thoughts he'd been having about Malfoy.

"I want to go back," Oliver said.

Harry shook his head, trying to ignore the hateful voice that told Harry things would never change. "What?" he asked, hoping he'd misunderstood.

"I want to go back," he repeated, as if the problem was that Harry hadn't heard him. "I need to. Logan isn't ready to be captain."

"Who cares?" Harry balked.

"I do!" Oliver shouted, directing the ire he had toward the team owner on Harry instead.

"If you run to his beck and call now, he's going to know he owns _you_, not just the team," Harry snapped.

"I'm _part _of the team, Harry. I'm their leader. Would you have abandoned Ron and Hermione during the war?" he asked.

"Are you daring to compare my fight with Voldemort to your silly Quidditch games?" Harry seethed.

"Silly?" Oliver hissed. "You love Quidditch."

"I do love Quidditch. I just hoped that when I got married, it would be to you, not the Quaffle!" Harry shouted, before covering his mouth as if that might retract his words. He wasn't willing to make Oliver stay because of some future they might not ever have. Not at this rate anyhow.

Besides, who was he to stand in Oliver's way when Harry himself was so conflicted?

Oliver seemed to sense his reluctance to keep yelling, so he lowered his own voice and stepped closer to where Harry stood, arms wrapped around his body as if he were embracing himself.

"Harry, you knew this about me when we met," Oliver sighed, obviously not wanting to fight.

"You knew I was an Auror when we met, yet I'm about to put in my resignation so that you'll feel better!" Harry shouted. He didn't care if they had an all out brawl. He was hurt, angry and determined to settle this thing tonight.

"About to? I thought you'd said you had already spoken to Kingsley," Oliver said, his eyebrows furrowed into a frown.

"Well, I lied!" Harry countered. "Apparently I knew you were a hypocrite!"

"I never told you to leave the Auror Division, Harry. That was your decision," Oliver seethed.

"Yes, it was. Because you made it clear that if my work habits didn't change, than neither would yours!" he bit out. Harry paced, running his hand through his hair and tugging at it when he reached the ends. "If this is how our relationship is destined to be, then I don't know if you're the right person for me."

"Oh, I suppose I know who is!" Oliver balked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry stopped and stared, his green gaze wide and furious.

"You know exactly what it means. You'd rather be with Malfoy than me," he huffed.

"You're being childish," Harry scoffed, but Oliver's words seemed to create a pocket in his thoughts that he couldn't ignore. Yes, he would have been perfectly happy on this trip with Malfoy. He would have been content lounging by the fire, sipping hot cocoa and telling stories about their life. He would have enjoyed snuggling underneath twenty layers of blankets and cocooning himself around Draco's warm body. In fact, had it been Draco there with him, he probably would have been having a better time all along.

"That wasn't a denial," Oliver noted.

"Just go. Get back to your precious Puddlemere United," Harry hissed. "I'll see you when I get back to London."

Oliver's face contorted briefly between anger and guilt before settling on the latter. "Harry," he sighed, looking completely defeated. "I'll stay if that's what you want."

Harry turned away from the man and shook his head. "I want you here, but not if you'd rather be somewhere else."

"Harry," he tried again, and judging by the sound of his voice, he'd grown closer, probably prepared to pull him into another embrace.

"Just go," Harry said, softly but sternly. This vacation was important to him, for their relationship, for their future, and if Oliver didn't recognize that, then maybe he was right. Maybe the magic had made a mistake and Oliver wasn't his match after all. Maybe he should have invited Draco, who he couldn't seem to stop thinking about whether he was there or not.

He felt the sudden emptiness of the room before he heard Oliver leave, although the metallic click of the front door echoed through him with a finality he hadn't been expecting.

Author's Note: Did anyone else's heart just break a little? I'm trying to get this finished and updated before I leave down for Thanksgiving, but that doesn't look like the most likely scenario since I don't have all the edits done for the final chapter. I wonder if I should leave you here, or post 24 before I leave...because you might all hate me if I post 24 and then leave you hanging for a full week...Decisions, Decisions. Either way, I'll try very hard not to die on my trip so that you get to read the end of this story. *grin


	24. Lonely Night

Author's Note: Thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work on this chapter, and thanks to all who have reviewed so far! Also, special thanks to Dracosoftie and BoudahMIM. for their help with the French. It's been ages since I've had a chance to use it fluently and I was a bit rusty. So, the general consensus was that I should go ahead and post chapter 24 before I went away on holiday (well, it was actually that I should post the rest of the story before I left, but since 25 hasn't been entirely beta'd I couldn't possibly do that.) So, here it is. I probably won't be able to update until next week, so if you don't want to be dangling from the edge of my cliffhangers, I suggest waiting until 25 is up, but let's see if you can resist. *grin.

Chapter 24 Lonely Night

Harry read the last note Oliver had sent him for the twelfth time before reasoning that he was an idiot and shoved it away from his body, where he continued to stare at the folded parchment for several moments. Their vacation had been ruined and potentially their entire relationship. Harry hadn't cut his holiday short just because Oliver had abandoned him, but instead used that time to think about what he wanted, what he needed. Harry was beginning to realize more and more that perhaps just because he and Oliver were matched, didn't mean it had to work out. Draco had said as much in one of their meetings. Sometimes the timing was just off.

Harry didn't know if he was being unreasonable, expecting to spend more time with his boyfriend even though he knew they were playing to win the Quidditch World Cup, but the Quidditch season lasted nearly all year and the final tournament was still months away. If this was how things were going to be – Oliver gone for days at a time – Harry didn't know how he was going to cope. The man promised to slow down in the next few years, but Harry didn't even know what that meant yet, and Oliver certainly didn't show any signs of proving it.

Was being left alone all the time enough reason to break up with the Quidditch star? No, but all the other details were beginning to weigh on his mind. Harry couldn't stop comparing Oliver to Draco, and in every aspect, Oliver failed to measure up. More than ever, Harry felt determined to find out if there was something between he and the Slytherin, something real and tangible, not just a dream that would never come true.

He feared that the magic had been wrong about Oliver, and he didn't think they would last through another date. Despite the many apologetic letters Harry had received from his distant boyfriend, Harry suspected that they would be breaking up when Oliver got back into London the next morning.

"This is ridiculous," he huffed aloud, even though there was no one in his flat to hear him. "I'm not a kept woman, I don't have to sit here wallowing in loneliness."

But he didn't feel like going out, especially when he knew pub patrons would cast odd stares his way if he continued to talk to himself. He tried to think of what he could do to pass the time. Oliver had been out of town since the morning he left their beach house for a Quidditch emergency, and that had been almost a week ago.

None of his friends seemed to think Oliver was right for him either. But did he listen to them? It's not as though they would be there to entertain him every evening if he were to break things off with Oliver. For that matter, Oliver wasn't there either. Maybe his friends had a point. If the only reason he was with the Scot was to ward off lonely nights, he could do better. Hermione had been adamantly pressing Harry to learn about the magic that had matched he and Oliver together. Maybe there was something faulty with it; maybe it was less accurate than he'd thought.

Which reminded him, a certain blond Slytherin had promised to explain about the magic he used to create the bond between his clients and hadn't brought it up in any of their latest meetings. Without another thought, Harry fetched a handful of Floo power and cast it into the fire, shouting out Draco's address as he went. An image of Draco's study opened up in front of him, but the blond was nowhere in sight. "Of course not," he muttered bitterly. "It's Friday night and he probably has a date."

That revelation, coupled with the face of the blond in question, rounding the corner into his office, made Harry end the fire call rather abruptly. He leaned back on his haunches and stared into the flames as they went from green to black to orange once more. He had no business interrupting Draco's Friday night, or his date, if Draco had one, which someone as perfect as he was surely did.

Shaking his head, Harry had to chastise himself. Wasn't it his rule that the pair kept things professional? And here he was, thinking of Draco's lovely face and fire calling him in the middle of a Friday night. It was inexcusable. Draco almost certainly had plans that were more important than chaperoning a lonely client. He remembered the man who had answered Draco's door a few weeks before and nearly flushed with embarrassment all over again. Draco had obviously gotten close with the man, Alston he recalled, if he allowed him to wander his flat half-naked and answer his door. Harry couldn't imagine being that bold at Oliver's place even now, and they had been practically engaged.

Hoping he'd ended the call before Draco had noticed him, Harry made his way into the kitchen to pop some corn. He was already imagining the taste of warm butter coating his tongue, and he strode to the dining table to grab the salt, eagerly anticipating his evening treat. Sitting at home alone watching a Muggle film with hot buttered popcorn wasn't a bad way to spend a Friday night. Not bad at all.

His spirits lifted, Harry had gotten as far as the sofa when a frantic knock resounded from his entryway. Puzzled, Harry put the popcorn down and went to see who was calling on him so late. A glance through his peephole revealed a frazzled looking Draco, who was angling to knock again when Harry yanked the door open.

"Hullo, Malfoy," he greeted conversationally.

"Hullo? _Hullo_?" Draco repeated, each time more aggravated than the last. "You disappear from my fireplace without a word and all you have to say is hullo?"

"I wasn't snooping or anything," Harry muttered, more defensively than he'd like.

"I know you weren't snooping," he bit out. "Are Gryffindors even capable of snooping?" he asked, but apparently he didn't need an answer to that, because he plowed ahead. "You looked…scared or something. I thought something was wrong!"

"Oh," Harry replied, somewhat bashfully. "No, nothing's the matter. I was just bored."

"Bored," Draco repeated again, as if he was suddenly unable to come up with words on his own. "You decided to give me a heart attack because you were bored?"

"I didn't think you'd seen me. I was lonely and thought that maybe you weren't too busy to explain the magic the way you'd promised, only I realized too late that it was Friday night and you probably had a date or something and I didn't want to interrupt, and…I'm babbling. Sorry," he finished quickly, a slight blush to his cheeks.

"I didn't have a date," Draco replied.

"Oh," Harry replied again. "I'm sorry I pulled you away from whatever it was you were doing. I remembered only too late that we weren't friends or anything. It's not as though you're obligated to fly over here and keep me company."

"Grands Dieux, mais que vais-je faire de ce Gryffindor entêté?" Draco grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Harry's lips curled into a slow smile. "That sounded cute, what did you say?"

"I was disparaging the gods for bringing you into my life," Draco sighed, his gray eyes blazing with amusement.

"Well, in that case, it doesn't sound nearly as cute," Harry muttered, but he couldn't stop grinning nonetheless.

"Harry, I know I've seemed a little…scattered," Draco started, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "I've just been under a lot of stress lately. But I assure you, despite what I told you earlier about this just being a business transaction, I do consider you a friend. You're welcome to come to me whenever you want."

Harry pursed his lips and tried not to breathe. He was afraid that if he did this beautiful, sweet Draco would be replaced by the evil, nasty Malfoy he'd gotten recent glimpses of. Besides, he enjoyed Draco's company, as much as he'd tried to deny it. "Is that an apology?"

"If you'll accept it," Draco replied, smirking slightly.

"Only if you say the words," Harry countered, looking quite serious despite the mirth in his gaze.

"Je suis profondément désolé, Harry," he replied and Harry laughed, his gut warming at the sound of his name in Draco's French accent.

"You're such a cheat. I have no idea what you just said," he told the blond, but opened the door wider, allowing room for Draco to pass. "Would you like to come in? I've got some popcorn and I was about to watch a movie."

"I suppose I could be bothered to visit with you, since I'm already here, that is," Draco whispered, smiling sweetly as he slid past Harry into the living room. Harry did his very best not to allow his gaze to wander down to the Slytherin's perfect arse, made even more delicious with the fit of the man's dark denims. It really wasn't fair that someone so unattainable kept himself within seemingly easy reach. Harry knew – only too well – that once he reached out to capture what he wanted, Draco would be gone like the mist. It wasn't fair, but then Harry hadn't yet broken up with Oliver, so he shouldn't still be coveting Malfoy anyway.

"How was the vacation with Oliver?" Draco asked as he moved fluidly into the living room.

"Can we not talk about him tonight?" Harry requested. He thought the blond was going to challenge him, but instead, after a long, curious glance, Draco merely shrugged and changed the subject.

"What are we watching?" Draco asked as he made himself comfortable on Harry's wide sofa. He took the bowl of popcorn, still hot, and popped a few kernels into his mouth.

"I hadn't decided yet," Harry admitted. "Would you like to pick?"

"What are my choices?" he asked and Harry merely pointed to the bottom shelf below his Muggle telly. Draco hopped up and knelt down in front of the selection, perusing the different titles. "Seen it, boring, no thanks, not right for tonight, funny but eh," he muttered, much to Harry's increasing amusement behind him. Then Draco made a noise that sounded as though someone had unexpectedly latched onto his cock with a hot mouth. "I think this is the one," he purred moments later and Harry strode over to see what the blond had chosen. "I never could turn away from David Bowie in a fluffy blond wig and skintight trousers. Have you noticed how often the camera pans to his groin?"

Harry chuckled and rolled his eyes, though he felt very much the same way. "Got a thing for Bowie hm, Malfoy?"

"I have a pulse, don't I?" Draco replied before returning to his spot on the sofa. Harry sat next to him after he'd started the movie and blindly reached over for the popcorn, getting a handful of Draco's groin instead.

His eyes went wide as he looked down to see his hand had missed the bowl entirely – because Draco had moved it, of course, not because he'd wanted to get frisky – and his fingers were curling into the fabric of Draco's trousers instead…and touching his cock. "I'm so sorry," he breathed, completely mortified and yet decidedly turned on. As was Malfoy it seemed, because the shaft he clutched was certainly not flaccid.

Draco began to chuckle as he stared into Harry's flushed face. "You do realize you're still touching it…right?"

Harry pulled back his fingers as if they were on fire and buried his face in his hands. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, but Draco just kept chuckling.

"No harm done," the blond said after a few minutes, his eyes lifted to the sky briefly as if he was waiting to be struck down by a bolt of lightning any moment. When he sighed in relief, Harry shot him a peculiar look, but Draco merely shrugged.

"I didn't realize exactly _how much_ you liked Bowie," Harry mentioned, trying to steer the embarrassing situation away from himself.

He was pleasantly surprised when the blond's cheeks flushed with a hint of pink and he turned away. "I get a little excited around attractive men," he muttered.

"Clearly," Harry replied, nudging Draco with his shoulder. "Oh, how's Alston, by the way," Harry mentioned, trying to be the considerate friend he was supposed to be. He didn't really want to hear about Draco's relationship with another man, but that's what friends did, right?

"Alston?" Draco asked, confusion written across his features but then shook his head. "He wasn't the one," he replied after a long moment.

Harry tried to look sad but couldn't quite manage it. "I'm sorry," he offered.

"Are you?" Draco asked, his delicate blond eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Because you don't seem terribly torn up over it."

Harry blanched. He hadn't thought he was being that translucent. "I just…I didn't think he was good enough for you," he replied honestly.

"You didn't know him," Draco pointed out with a smirk.

"I knew him well enough to know he wasn't right for you," Harry huffed, feeling suddenly quite defensive.

Draco's smirk widened into a genuine grin as he sidled closer to Harry, unable to stop himself as he leaned in. "Oh? Well, who is?"

Me.

That's what Harry wanted to say, but instead he simply rolled his eyes and pointed at the screen. "Well, you seem to like him…maybe Bowie is good enough for you."

"I don't date blonds," Draco replied with a shrug.

"You do realize he's not _actually_ blond, right?" Harry mused, his own mouth quirking into a smile.

"He's blond enough of the time for it to count against him," Draco quipped.

"What do you have against blonds?" Harry asked, leaning closer than before.

"Nothing, but how fair would it be to them? They'd always be looking at my hair and wishing theirs was half as lovely," Draco sighed, his voice a reverent whisper that didn't for a moment betray the bubbling laughter he felt.

Harry swatted him lightly on the arm and laughed. "You're a pompous arse, you know that?"

"Would you have me any other way?" Draco whispered. Their faces were so close that Harry could feel the other man's breath caress his lips, making him flick his tongue out to wet them.

"No," he breathed. They stared at one another from inches apart for a long moment, neither willing to close that last bit of space. Harry wanted to kiss him so badly, but he was afraid of being rejected like last time, and in the next moment, he was grateful he hadn't pushed it.

"I'm sorry," Draco muttered, breaking the spell as he shifted far enough away that Harry could see the pain in his eyes. "I wasn't trying to invade your space. I just…."

"Wanted to kiss me?" Harry asked, and Draco nodded without hesitation.

"I shouldn't have though. I agreed to keep things professional, after all," the blond sighed, running a hand through his silken locks. Harry stared at him curiously, having never noticed the movement before. Had Draco picked up one of his own quirks? Had they really been spending so much time together that Draco was now imitating him? Harry wondered if he'd done the same, if he'd managed to cling to a habit of Draco's without realizing it. As soon as his tongue darted out to wet his lips again, he knew that he had - and he didn't mind for even a moment that it was happening.

"What if I said I wanted you to?" Harry breathed.

Draco caught his breath but shook his head. "I would point out that it's wrong. You're with Oliver," Draco said, bitterness apparent in his voice.

"And if I weren't?" Harry asked, and Draco swallowed thickly, willing the words to come.

"Then I wouldn't protest," he managed, just barely, before the magicks grew impatient with him.

Harry pursed his lips and leaned back a bit. That wasn't the answer he'd been after, but that wasn't what Harry was contemplating in that moment. Remembering Hermione's words, Harry decided to be bold. "How could you desire me if you know I'm meant to be with Oliver?" he asked, a question that had been on his mind off an on since they'd kissed.

"To explain that, you'd have to understand the theories behind the magicks I use," Draco replied.

Did the spell bring the castor closer to his clients? Perhaps the Vows they'd given had? Harry couldn't fathom an answer but merely smiled in response. "Well, you did promise to teach me," Harry reminded him.

"That I did," Draco replied, in the barest of whispers before leaping to his feet and holding out his hand. Harry took it willingly, noting the spark as their flesh connected, and followed Draco into the fireplace, where he'd just cast in Floo powder and shouted his address. "This will be easier in my study," he explained at Harry's curious glance.

"So, you're not just bringing me back to your place to seduce me?" Harry quipped. Draco's eyes darkened with a lust so thick he had to literally shake it from his bones. He led the brunet upstairs and paused just as he opened the door to his tidy office, turning to Harry with those starving gray eyes.

"You'd better watch it, Potter, or you're going to get us both into trouble," Draco replied huskily before turning back to his desk and adopting a more serious tone. "These are all the profiles I've created," he explained, pointing at the various locked cabinets and drawers. "I've collected hundreds, if not thousands of surveys, each one unique from the next. It's not the questions that really catch the magicks though, it's the essence found in the answers that trigger the spell."

"So, it doesn't matter what you ask?" Harry queried.

"Not really," Draco replied with a shrug. "The questions I've devised for my own benefit, because it helps me weed out couples that I shouldn't even bother with. The spell takes a lot out of me, and if one person answers that their ideal life consists of living in the country with a dozen offspring and another person indicates that they're a sterile city boy, than it's pointless to waste my time. It's obvious they're not right for one another."

"That makes sense," Harry reasoned. "So, mine and Oliver's tests match up?"

"Yes, but of course you knew that already," Draco replied.

"What happened when you cast the spell?" Harry asked, smiling indulgently. He could tell Draco really enjoyed explaining the way his job worked by the excitement lighting up the man's eyes.

"For you and Oliver?" Draco specified, trying to appease the magicks and Harry both, and Harry nodded. "It came up golden. There are several different levels."

"Golden being the highest," Harry added, but Draco frowned.

"No," he corrected. "Golden is the _second highest_ match you could get. A pure bond, that's the highest."

"And a pure bond means what, exactly?" Harry asked, gaining full interest for the first time.

"Soul mates," Draco breathed, finally able to say the words because Harry had asked for them directly and out of the context Draco so desperately wanted to say them.

Harry's eyes widened slightly, and he let out a soft breath. He was on the verge of being selfish, of asking if he had a soul mate - if perhaps Draco was that man. It certainly felt that way; their connection had been undeniable from the start. Even when they were schoolboy rivals, Harry felt a constant pull toward the blond. Hell, he'd spent his entire Sixth year skulking around after him. Draco seemed to know him in a way that no one else did. Like the way he could so easily predict things that Harry would enjoy, and the way he would just show up when Harry needed him – as if the blond had a 'Harry Potter' channel on his wireless.

But then Harry remembered that it was impossible for him to be Draco's soul mate. "Oh gods," he whispered, leaning in to clutch the blond's shoulder. "I'm so sorry."

Draco looked puzzled for a moment, and then a violent cringe raced through him. Had Harry figured it out? Was he rejecting him after all of this? "Sorry for what?" he asked, holding to hope that he was wrong.

"When I first came here, you mentioned that your soul mate had died," Harry whispered, as if he were in a library and trying to avoid Hermione's lectures on 'inside voices'. "I only just realized how important that was. I thought you were exaggerating when you used the word soul mate, but you weren't, were you?"

Draco closed his eyes and cursed his own fibbing tongue. "I didn't mean that, Harry. I only meant that the person alighted as my soul mate was _dead to me_. They are already with someone else."

"Oh," Harry replied, a bit sharply. "Why would you lie about something like that?"

"I didn't lie," Draco sighed. "I merely have trouble-"

"Telling the truth," Harry finished for him, still frowning.

"In a way, yes," Draco huffed. "These magicks I work with are very strong, Harry. Pair that with an Unbreakable Vow, and what am I supposed to do? You know I'm not allowed to discuss my clients with anyone who doesn't already know what I do. Well, that applies to the man I'm in love with. I can't tell him how I feel about him either. I'm not allowed." Draco waited patiently for the pain to come, but it was only mild. Apparently since Draco was only answering Harry's questions, the magicks didn't seek to harm him. Although it might have to do with the fact that Draco was trying to come at the subject very indirectly. He suddenly wished he had a manual for these magicks so he knew what he was and wasn't allowed to do or say.

"That's terrible," Harry gasped, wincing in sympathy for the blond.

"It's maddening," Draco confirmed, leveling Harry with a powerful gaze, as if trying to will the man into understanding his plight fully. "The worst part is that this other man is only with his golden match."

"Wait, but wouldn't the soul mates win out? Why wouldn't the magic recognize you as the stronger match and allow you to confess?" Harry asked, leaning even closer to Draco in his excitement.

"You'd think, but no. The first contract must be broken in order for another to be formed," Draco replied.

"So, until your soul mate sacks his lover, your hands are tied?" Harry reasoned.

"Exactly," Draco rasped, feeling relief wash over him. Still, Harry had understood the nuances of the magic, but he hadn't seemed to connect the dots.

"And what would happen if you tried to break them up?" Harry asked. "Are these magicks like the ones in the Unbreakable Vow?"

"Very similar," Draco agreed, the first stirring of a headache forming behind his eyes. "I would find myself in a great deal of pain if I even so much as _kissed_ my soul mate. If I were to press further than that, I could die."

"Are you in pain now?" Harry asked, running his fingertips along the edge of Draco's jaw.

"So much pain, Harry," he confessed, though the magicks only seemed to be toying with him now, but Harry removed his hand as swiftly as he had done earlier that night.

"If I'm clear then," Harry pressed on, taking a deep breath and letting it out very slowly. "What you're saying is, that all I have to do is break up with Oliver and you can be with your soul mate?"

Draco nearly choked hearing the solution so bluntly from the Gryffindor's mouth. He wanted to shout 'Yes!', scream it to the heavens that please, please, please have Harry ditch Oliver to be with him, but the words would not come, just as he wasn't permitted to tell Harry he loved him directly. And just as he was about to growl in frustration, knowing that once again Harry was bound to take his silence as a negative response, his brilliant Harry did something unexpected.

"You can't say yes, can you?" Harry asked, his eyes widening. "I see it now that I know what to look for," he whispered. "All that time…I thought you were just toying with me."

"I wasn't," Draco assured him in a rasping tone.

"And this is what happened to Hermione and Gin as well? Because they were trying to interfere with my relationship with Oliver?" he asked, but he clearly didn't need an answer as he paced the floor, rubbing at his forehead.

"Harry, I just want you to be happy," Draco told him. "So do your friends."

"I need to think for a moment," Harry said, holding up his finger to silence the blond. "Stop talking. I don't want you in any more pain than you're already in," he added, and Draco smiled at the Gryffindor's hero complex kicking in, even at a time like this.

Soul mates.

The word resonated through Harry with a thrill and a few weeks ago he would have laughed at the very notion of it. Not only was he certain they didn't exist, but for Draco Malfoy, bane of his entire life to be that man…. "I'm sorry, Draco, I really am, but I need to see Oliver. I've been with him for too long to just end things like this," he whispered and fled Draco's study, leaving a gaping blond in his wake.

He'd been prepared to lose Harry to Wood, but not like this. Draco had been sure that if Harry knew about the magic, once Harry realized that they were soul mates, that he would hold Draco tight and never let go. He'd assumed that if Harry remained ignorant to the fact that Draco loved him that surely he would choose Oliver, but the idea of him knowing everything and chasing after Oliver instead had never entered into his mind. But here he was, living a nightmare. Harry was his soul mate, Harry knew this, and still he chose Oliver?

The sobbing cry that issued from Draco's throat was only the first of many that assaulted him that evening.

Author's Note: So, the movie, as some of you have no doubt guessed, was Labyrinth, my all time personal favorite. Alas, one of my beta's, Shannon, has never seen it, and even didn't know who David Bowie was until I told her, so I had to have a bit of fun at her expense. Right? Oh, and poor Draco, right? *smirk.


	25. Broken Hearts, Healed Souls

Author's Note: Many thanks to Kasey and Shannon for their beta work of this chapter and the rest of the story. Your input has been invaluable. Also, many thanks to those of you who have reviewed the story along the way. Your reviews leave me warm and fuzzy.

Chapter 25 Broken Hearts, Healed Souls

"Oh, Harry. I'm so glad to see you," Oliver greeted, pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug. Harry just stood there limply, unable to respond when he knew deep down what he had to do, what he should have done weeks ago when the doubts had started plaguing him.

Oliver didn't seem to notice at first; no doubt assuming Harry's presence there would equal reconciliation from their fight during their impromptu vacation. Eventually he seemed to catch on that Harry wasn't reciprocating the embrace and he pulled back, a soft frown marring his normally lovely face. "Harry," he asked tentatively, as if he was afraid any sound would trigger the floor to break away underneath his feet.

He wasn't entirely wrong.

"We need to talk," Harry said, determined to make this as quick and painless as possible.

Oliver swallowed thickly. "I don't think I like the sound of that." The tone he used was teasing, but the quiver of his voice betrayed him and made the already acidic pit in Harry's stomach grow.

"You shouldn't," Harry admitted, trying to smile but completely unable to muster the energy.

"Harry, before you say anything, I'm sorry. I promise to never bail on you like that ever again," he swore, pulling Harry into his sparsely decorated flat. Harry followed him reluctantly into the living room, only because he didn't want to cause a scene out front.

"This isn't about the trip, Olli," Harry explained. "This is about so much more than that."

"What is it?" Oliver asked. "The media, the long hours, tell me."

"It's all of it, and none of it," Harry sighed, raking a hand through his wild hair. He hadn't slept a wink the night before after leaving Draco's flat. He'd waited until the sun came up to rush over to Oliver's house, unable to wait any longer to free Draco of the vows. Even if things didn't fall into place for him and Draco, Harry couldn't stand the idea of the blond in pain because of the magicks he'd used to help him. "This just isn't working."

"Harry, you can't say that. I know we've been arguing a lot more lately, but that's natural," he challenged, but Harry just closed his eyes and nodded.

"I know," he whispered. "It was step number six in Draco's program, but the problem isn't our arguing, or our jobs, or our different opinions. It's that I'm in love with someone else."

"What do you mean different opin- wait, what?" he balked, his dark eyes flaring wide.

Harry took a deep breath and huffed it out quickly, thinking it was best to yank it off like a bandage. "I'm in love with Draco."

"This is a joke, right?" Oliver asked, forcing a laugh. "This is your revenge for my walking out on the holiday you'd planned for us?"

"I'm afraid not," Harry replied, no laughter threatening to join with Oliver's, forced or otherwise. "It was your accusation that night that made me realize that you were right. I feel connected to him and I spent weeks trying to rationalize it, but it's not rational."

"So what?" Oliver scoffed. "You spend a lot of time with him, of course you feel connected. Maybe if you stopped seeing him-"

"But I _don't want_ to stop seeing him," Harry interrupted. "Which is why I'm here to tell you goodbye. I never intended to lead you on, Oliver. I just had no idea the depth of my feelings for him until recently."

Oliver seemed torn between screaming, crying or punching something – or someone – but eventually just sunk down into the uncomfortable looking sofa and put his head in his hands. Harry chewed on his bottom lip, worrying it until it bled. He had no idea what to do here. Usually when he broke up with someone, there was a clear-cut reason why. 'Sorry, I can't date you anymore because you stole from me.' 'Sorry, this isn't working because you feel more like a brother.' 'My apologies, but you're sort of a prat and I hadn't realized how much I hate you until now.'

The problem here was that Oliver was perfect. He was kind, considerate, passionate, driven; all great things that Harry admired and that others would admire as well. But all that perfection meant nothing to Harry anymore, because all Harry could see were smirking lips and smoldering gray eyes and the man he wanted to spend the rest of his life arguing with and snogging with and raising a family with. Draco was _his_ perfect, even if he was no one else's.

Harry rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet, completely out of his element. Should he stay and try to comfort Oliver, or would the Quidditch star be more comforted by Harry's departure? He had no idea. "Oliver, what do you need?" he whispered when he could no longer stand the silence.

"I need time away from you, Harry," he replied without looking up. "I wasn't lying when I said I loved you."

"I know," Harry rasped, feeling his heart wrench in two. He understood Draco's magic now, and he knew that this had been so real for Oliver. If not for Draco's presence in Harry's life, he and Oliver could have lived a long and happy life, but it wasn't meant to be. Whether Draco realized it or not, something had been working against them all along, as if part of the magic was confused and wanted Harry to be with Draco regardless of the vows they'd both made.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with the magic at all. Maybe Harry had just known, deep down, that Draco was his one and only, despite the fact that his infuriating brain seemed to interfere and tell him otherwise.

Harry turned to leave Oliver alone with his broken heart, wishing he could do something to repair it, and then realized with a start that perhaps he could. "I know it's probably too soon to think of it," he told the sullen man, "but you might want to pay a little more attention to Logan. I think he's crushing on you pretty hard."

Oliver glanced up from his hands, offering Harry a weak smile. "He's been increasingly less subtle about it since I started dating you. I'll think about it," he promised and Harry gave his ex a genuine smile before leaving the stark flat in lieu of someplace more comfortable. Preferably someplace that contained a snarky blond.

* * *

Draco hadn't slept a wink last night as his mind ran through his conversation with Harry over and over, wondering what he'd done wrong. He was desperate to figure out what had made the man flee back to Wood's arms. When he heard the knock on the door and noticed it still wasn't quite eight in the morning, Draco knew it had to be Harry. No one else would call on him at that hour, unless it was perhaps Oliver trying to seek vengeance on Draco's face for trying to steal Harry away from him. But then, how can one steal something that already belongs to them?

If anyone was doing the thievery, it was Oliver Wood.

He had himself quite worked up by the time he made it to the door, his wand brandished and leveled to hex the Quidditch star in the chest, but it dropped from his hand and clattered to the ground the moment he spied a dejected looking Harry Potter on his stoop instead. The man looked tired and depressed yet somehow lovelier than he'd ever been. It would be Draco's luck that Harry would come over here to break things off officially and still manage to seem perfect in Draco's eyes.

Bloody soul mates.

Harry opened his mouth, no doubt planning to crush Draco's heart beneath his heel as gently as possible, but Draco wouldn't allow it. He pressed a finger to Harry's lips and pulled him into his dining room. "Don't you dare make a peep until I've had my turn," Draco demanded, his stoic persona only wavering slightly as he hoped he could make Harry change his mind. He was determined to ignore the magicks and tell Harry what he'd wanted to tell him all along.

"You still have two steps left," he reminded the Gryffindor.

"Draco, I'm not here for dating lessons," Harry sighed, shaking his head in dismay.

"I said, not a peep," Draco warned again, wagging his finger in earnest. "Step nine is the confession of love," he told him, gulping down all the air he could get, hoping it would help him finish baring his soul before the magicks had their way with him. "Harry, I'm arse over heels in love with you. I can't possibly explain it, nor do I want to. I just know that I can't possibly imagine spending another day without you, and that you're more than just my soul mate. You're a brilliant Auror, a handsome hero and a fantastic kisser. I can only hope that you might choose to share yourself with me one day, but I'll take what I can get. Just please don't leave my life forever," he pleaded, despite his strict Malfoy upbringing. He knew he father was likely turning in his grave, but he couldn't muster the energy to care.

He waited for the Magicks to steal through him, searing off the last of his chances at life with such a bold admission and breakage of the vows he'd made, but it never came. And Harry was grinning. And then Harry was kissing him.

Draco said silent goodbyes to the world as he lost himself in the feel or Harry's lips, the stroke of Harry's tongue and the intoxicating flavor of Harry's mouth. Draco's fingers ended up lodged somewhere in the man's raven locks while Harry somehow managed to finagle his own fingertips beneath the edge of Draco's jumper, caressing the smooth expanse of flesh underneath.

Draco's entire body shuddered at the touch and the kiss turned hungry. He forgot to feel grateful that the Magicks had thought to give him this final pleasure; he was so enamored of the feel of Harry's mouth devouring him like a sticky sweet. Then a thought occurred to him, that perhaps the Magicks had already taken his life and that this was his eternal reward for the good he'd done in his life. In the end, it didn't matter, so long as Harry kept kissing him.

When Harry broke off the kiss, Draco nearly whimpered in protest, and only Harry's parted, swollen lips and lusty green stare turned that whimper into a moan. He dove for the beautiful hero, intent on capturing those lips once more, greedily wanting to take all he could before the punishment sunk in.

But Harry, it seemed, had other plans, and backed up just out of reach. "Before we start snogging again, I have something I need to tell you," Harry whispered, and though Draco was listening intently, anything said after the words 'snog again' seemed to have melted away in Draco's excitement. "I love you, too."

That, however, brought him crashing back down to Earth. "Pardon?" he asked, not sure he'd understood Harry correctly.

"It's been bludgeoning me over the head for weeks now and I'm sorry I didn't see it before," Harry explained, "But I'm hopelessly smitten with this perfect Slytherin," he whispered, trailing his fingertips along Draco's jaw. "I love you, Draco. I always have and I always will."

It took Draco's mind a moment to reconnect and stutter back to life, but when it did, all he could do was offer a wide grin.

* * *

"So, Oliver?" Draco asked, his eyes wide with hope.

"Over," Harry replied.

"You're sure?" Draco asked, but he was already stalking closer, filling the distance between them with his body.

"I've never been more sure of anything in my entire life," Harry confessed and seconds later, the pair were latched together again like a completed puzzle. Hands scrambled to free flesh from the unfortunate confines of clothing while teeth scraped along jaws and earlobes and the tender skin between.

Somehow they managed to navigate the stairs, leaving a trail of trousers and undergarments in their wake. Draco's bed was soft, but Harry hardly noticed because his soul mate was pressed into him, his smooth length grinding into Harry's thigh. This was how it was supposed to feel. Harry had no reservations, no doubts, and no questions as to whether it was right to give himself completely to the man in his arms. Harry shifted, bringing their erections together in delicious friction, eliciting a wanton hiss from his lover's perfect lips.

Harry hadn't even realized how much he wanted this, needed it, until the reality of Draco's gloriously naked body was pressed against his own. "Perfect," he whispered, and he wasn't only speaking of the pale man's form. Everything about Draco felt perfect to him. His hot breath against his neck, the lingering scent of wild vanilla bean that made Harry want to lick him up like a rich dessert, the way their hearts seemed to thud in rapid unison, it all whispered to Harry that he'd made the right choice.

Draco's fingers pinched at the hard nubs of Harry's nipples and made the brunet arch beneath him with a cry. "Mmm, I suspected you might like a dash of pain with your pleasure," Draco purred against the shell of Harry's ear.

Harry's eyes fluttered to half-mast at the sultry sound, made even more intoxicating when that wicked tongue flicked out to caress his skin, licking a hot path from Harry's nipples to his groin. "Fuck," he gasped, trying to angle himself into that perfect mouth.

"Not just yet," Draco teased, but before Harry had time to question or protest, nimble fingers wrapped around his cock and squeezed.

Incomprehensible mutterings flew from Harry's lips when the blond's mouth lowered onto his weeping prick. He began to suspect that when people referred to Slytherins as cunning, they weren't talking about a keen intellect, but rather their devious tongues. He found threading and tugging his fingers in Draco's silken hair only did so much to anchor him. His body craved more and more until he feared it would be too late. As much as he wanted this, their first time together, to last, Harry didn't think he'd be able to.

Luckily he had an eternity to make it up to Draco.

He muttered a wandless spell, hoping he got it right because he could scarcely breathe from moaning. When he felt his muscles begin to loosen and a slick substance coated his arse, he knew he couldn't have been too far off from the right incantation. Draco paused, surprised by this new development, and Harry took the opportunity to flip their positions.

With a startled 'oof', Draco found himself on his back, staring up at Harry as the ebony-haired man lowered himself onto his cock. "Sweet fucking Salazar," Draco hissed, gripping Harry's hips with all his might. "You're so…uhng."

Harry chuckled darkly at seeing Draco's praise lost in a carnal groan. With excruciatingly slow movements, Harry began to slide down Draco's prick, relishing in the feeling of being so filled. Having Draco inside of him was pure unadulterated bliss, and he nearly cursed himself when he realized they could have been doing this for weeks or even years.

Draco was clearly fighting to keep his eyes open, but Harry could feel both of their orgasms approaching as Draco thrust up into him with frantic snaps of his hips. Harry raised and lowered his body over and over, loving the effect it had on Draco, his lips parted and swollen as he cried out. Harry, too, tried to keep his eyes open, because he desperately wanted to watch the Slytherin come undone, but it was not to be.

One final thrust pushed Harry over the edge and he came violently, screaming Draco's name into the sex-warmed air of the bedroom, vaguely registering the feel of Draco's own release coating his arse. He collapsed on top of the blond, unable to move even if Draco had protested, which he didn't, and sighed against his neck. "I'm sorry for being so thick," he muttered when air didn't seem as hard to gulp down.

Draco chuckled, the sound vibrating through their joined chests. "I have plenty of time to get used to it," he whispered.

"So, what's the tenth step?" Harry asked, using the last vestiges of energy to raise himself up on his elbows and stare down at his lovely soul mate.

"Mmm, ten is the most important," Draco replied, nibbling along Harry's jaw. Apparently Harry's skin was quite distracting, because Draco had to be prompted once more to answer. "Oh, right," he muttered, flushing slightly. "Step ten is to repeat steps one through nine until we die."

"I like step ten," he whispered and Harry's grin soon turned to laughter as he placed a tender kiss on his soul mate's lips – the first of many millions that would follow.

* * *

Epilogue

The smell of fresh blueberries wafted into the bedroom, coupled with Draco's favorite Earl Grey tea, causing the man to reluctantly stir awake. "Harry?" he murmured, pouting as he noticed the bed was empty of his lover's delicious body.

"Right here, love," he called back, and Draco turned over to see Harry levitating a tray into their bedroom. As it grew closer, he saw that it was laden with food, enough to feed a small Weasley army, but it all looked delicious and smelled spectacular. A pile of toast – white, whole wheat and seven grain varieties – slabs of butter and jam, blueberry pancakes, French toast, scones, pumpkin juice and a small silver dome covered the surface of the tray, stacked so precariously that Draco was nervous for the safety of his duvet.

Once in place over Draco's lap, Harry came to stand beside the bed, placing a lingering kiss on the blond's eager lips. He never tired of kissing this man. Never. "For the _Pièce de résistance_," Harry announced in a terrible accent before removing the silver dome to reveal a thick, juicy sausage.

Draco couldn't help but chuckle warmly at the gesture, especially when Harry was grinning cheekily beside him. "Get into bed, you," Draco growled lovingly, patting the empty spot beside him.

"Happy birthday," Harry whispered as he climbed into his usual place in their enormous bed.

"You've outdone yourself, Harry," Draco admitted, staring at the pile of food, unable to decide what to start with.

"Well, I thought you might like to have something to eat before the game, but I didn't know what you'd want, so I made a bit of all your favorites," Harry replied with a blush.

"A bit?" Draco asked, his eyebrow arched in jest. "I hope you're planning on sharing, because if I eat all of this I won't be able to move for a week."

Harry chuckled and plucked a slice of sausage from the plate and took a bite. He winked as he swallowed it down; reminding Draco of what the naughty Gryffindor had been swallowing the night before, especially the way the grease made Harry's lips shine.

"It seems I'm not hungry for any of this," Draco purred, gesturing to the cluttered tray before grabbing Harry's jaw and tilting him up for a devouring kiss. "Mmmm," he groaned when they pulled apart. "That's much better."

Harry blinked lazily at his lover, a slow smile curling on his lips. "If you keep that up, you're not going to get a chance to eat. I'll be occupying your day in other ways."

"That's a pretty half-hearted threat to get me to eat. In fact, if you really wanted me to have breakfast, you would have threatened the opposite," Draco explained, a wicked smirk on his face. "Besides," he added, casting a stasis spell on the meal and maneuvering it over to the nightstand, "we have all morning to eat."

With that, Draco launched himself at Harry, capturing the man's lips and pinning him to the mattress. "We don't actually," Harry noted when Draco released his lips to suck at a quivering spot on Harry's throat. "Ung, it's already…oh fuck…noon," he gasped out.

It took Draco a moment to process Harry's words through the pleasure he was offering, but as soon as he did, Draco paused and sat up, straddling Harry's lap. "What?"

"You were up late last night, and I didn't want to disturb you," Harry reasoned.

"So you let me sleep until noon?" Draco balked, turning around to stare at the window. Sure enough, Harry had placed a darkening charm on the glass so that no sunlight filtered through.

"Technically, it was half past eleven," Harry pointed out. "You were up well past four!" he added when Draco shot him a withering glance.

Eventually Draco sighed and covered Harry with his body once more, placing sweet kisses along his jaw. It was unfortunate, because he really wanted to return the favor from last night – Harry had taken him to a popular new nightclub where they'd danced for hours and then Harry took him home and shagged him senseless. Draco couldn't think of a better birthday than that, but they had tickets to the Quidditch World Cup and probably should have been there already.

"You'll have to promise to make it up to me tonight," Draco breathed against the shell of Harry's ear.

"But we'll be staying in the Weasley tent tonight," Harry replied with a frown.

"I know. We'll have to be very, very quiet." Draco winked at Harry, sending a shiver through the man's body as he thought of all the wicked things Draco was likely planning. He would work doubly hard to make Harry moan and get them caught.

"Have I mentioned lately that I find your Slytherin cunning to be quite the turn on?" he asked, kissing Draco greedily before hesitantly releasing him so they could eat.

* * *

"Orange really isn't a good color on you," Draco muttered as Harry showed off his outfit.

Harry's pout quickly turned into a frown and he crossed his arms across his pumpkin-orange chest. "I don't think it looks good on anyone," he quipped. "Try it and see how _you_ look," he challenged.

"Malfoys look great in everything," Draco muttered haughtily and cast a quick Charm that turned his navy robes into the garish color Harry was wearing. He waltzed over to the mirror, intent on proving his point, but the sight only made him curl his lip in disgust.

"But orange?" Harry chirped, finishing his husband's statement.

"Apparently," Draco muttered. "But it's still less unsightly with my pallor than yours."

"Good," Harry announced and waved his wand over his own attire, changing it to a deep blue. "Then you can be the one to root for the Cannons!"

Harry turned around and pretended to busy himself with the lacing on his trousers to better hide his smirk. The unthinkable had occurred, the Cannons and Puddlemere United would be battling for the World Cup, so Harry and Draco had agreed to each root for one of the teams, so that as a couple, they could show support for both. It had seemed a splendid idea at the time until a coin toss gave him the Cannons and the bright orange robes to wear.

"This was your intention all along, wasn't it, you little sneak," Draco grumbled, moving so that he could see Harry's snickering face.

"A dragon always rises to a challenge, and you, my love, are every bit your namesake," Harry pointed out; stealing a kiss before Draco playfully batted him away.

"Gryffindor, my arse," Draco pouted. "I think sometimes you're more Slytherin than I am."

"Blasphemer," Harry gasped and stole another kiss and this time he wasn't rebuked.

* * *

The game lasted well into the evening hours, both teams putting up an excellent fight, but in the end, Logan snatched the Snitch and Puddlemere won the Cup. Ron was pouting a bit, but he was too exhausted to do too much complaining and the mood in the Weasley tent was just as upbeat as it would have been had the Cannons won.

"I love what you've done here, Malfoy," Ginny cooed, running her fingers along Draco's cheek. Harry had managed to talk him into wearing matching face paint for the game – or perhaps, _bribed _him into, would be more appropriate. The sexual favors he'd be offering up over the coming weeks would be completely worth it though.

"Uhg, I nearly forgot about it," Draco balked, rushing off to the loo so he could scrub his face.

Ginny giggled and sidled up next to Harry. "You two seem happy," she noted.

Harry couldn't stop the grin that formed on his face. "We are," he confirmed. "Things have never been better."

"He told Clive that you cut back on your hours at the Ministry," she said.

"I did," Harry confirmed. "I want to spend more time with Draco, and now that the wedding hubbub is behind us, we plan to start looking for a surrogate soon."

"Oh, Harry! That's brilliant," she cooed. "You two will make great parents."

"I hope so," Harry sighed and smiled brightly as his lover emerged from the bathroom, his face tinged red from the numerous _Scourgify_ spells he'd likely used.

"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" Draco asked as he slinked back to his place at his husband's side. He reached out and grasped Ginny's wrist, pulling the sleeve of her robe up to reveal a sterling charm bracelet. "Clive never mentioned buying you a bauble. It's not your anniversary, or your birthday. Gin, are you having an affair?" he asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

"No," she hissed, jerking her arm back and smoothing the fabric back into place. "It's something I bought for myself with a little wager money I won from Luna," she explained.

"What were you two betting on?" Harry asked, his eyes widening. "That looks like a pretty expensive piece of jewelry."

"No matter," Ginny replied with a wink and slipped away to Hermione's side, where they shared a whispered conversation and a laugh.

"Why do I get the feeling that they're talking about us?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Because I didn't marry an imbecile," Draco replied, pursing his lips as he watched the catty females gossip.

Their attention was quickly drawn to the flap of the tent, however, when a new couple arrived. Oliver Wood strolled into the celebratory melee of the Weasley tent with Logan on his arm. The man had taken Harry's advice, and after some delicate nudging from Draco and Harry, agreed to have their profiles matched through Draco's magic.

They weren't soul mates, but none of them had been expecting that. The pure match was rare, and Draco was rather fond of the fact that he and Harry's relationship was so unique. Still, Oliver and Logan seemed perfect for one another, and the magicks seemed to agree when a golden match was bestowed upon them. It came as a surprising relief to both men, because as selfish and greedy as Draco was with his Harry, he'd still felt a smidge guilty for being the reason Oliver was suddenly alone.

"Good game," Harry cheered, clapping both men on the back. "That last dive for the Snitch was impressive," he praised Logan. "Almost as steep as the dive we entered in our one-on-one," he added in a teasing tone. Logan flushed and ducked his head, making Harry laugh. "I knew it!" he goaded, unable to stop chuckling.

"Apparently he was trying pretty hard to get my attention for months," Oliver quipped, lacing his arm around Logan's waist.

"Well, we Gryffindors excel at ignoring what's right in front of our faces," Harry admitted, pressing an apologetic kiss into Draco's cheek.

"Why I ever fell in love with a Gryffindor is beyond me," Draco sighed melodramatically. "You're a bloody nuisance!"

"A nuisance that you loooovveee," Harry cooed in a sickeningly sweet voice.

"Prat," Draco muttered, tugging Harry into a deep kiss that was thoroughly inappropriate for such a public venue – a fact proven when whoops and catcalls filled the tent from every direction. Oliver and Logan clapped and whistled as Draco and Harry continued to snog, completely oblivious of all the attention they were getting.

The world was a perfect, shining place when the magicks were appeased.

Author's Note: Well, that's the end. I told you I was going to milk it. I hope you enjoyed it and if you're craving more, there will be plenty of stories to come. Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed this story. It's been my pleasure to entertain you all.


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